SESAME 

AND 

LILIES 


SESAME  AND 


JOHN   RUSKIN 


SESAME  AND 
=L  I  L I E  S= 


B Y 

JOHN    RUSKIN 


ILLUSTRATED 


PHILADELPHIA 
HENRY    ALTEMUS     COMPANY 


Annex 

PR 


CONTENTS. 


PAftB 

I.  OF  KINGS'  TREASURIES, 37 

n.  OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS, 117 

ra.  OF  THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE,      .    .    .    .171 


NOTE. — The  admirable  and  thoroughly  characteristic 
Preface  to  the  present  volume  was  written  by  Mr.  RUSKIN 
on  the  occasion  of  beginning  the  publication  of  a  new  and 
revised  edition  of  his  works,  in  1871.  The  Preface  is  given 
here  entire,  with  the  exception  of  two  short  passages  relat- 
ing to  other  volumes  of  the  series;  and  these  omissions  are 
denoted  by  asterisks  or  point*. 


PREFACE. 

i 

(.  TOEING  now  fifty-one  years  old,  and  little 
•D  likely  to  change  my  mind  hereafter  on 
any  important  subject  of  thought  (unless  through 
weakness  of  age),  I  wish  to  publish  a  connected 
series  of  such  parts  of  my  works  as  now  seem  to 
me  right,  and  likely  to  be  of  permanent  use.  In 
doing  so  I  shall  omit  much,  but  not  attempt  to 
mend  what  I  think  worth  reprinting.  A  young 
man  necessarily  writes  otherwise  than  an  old  one, 
and  it  would  be  worse  than  wasted  time  to  try  to 
recast  the  juvenile  language ;  nor  is  it  to  be 
thought  that  I  am  ashamed  even  of  what  I  cancel, 
for  a  great  part  of  my  earlier  work  was  rapidly 
written  for  temporary  purposes,  and  is  now  un- 
necessary, though  true,  even  to  truism.  What  I 
wrote  about  religion  was,  on  the  contrary,  pains- 
taking, and,  I  think,  forcible  as  compared  with 
most  religious  writing,  especially  in  its  frankness 
and  fearlessness ;  but  it  was  wholly  mistaken,  for  I 
had  been  educated  in  the  doctrines  of  a  narrow 

(7) 


8  PBEFACS. 

sect,  and  had  read  history  as  obliquely  as  sectarians 
necessarily  must. 

Mingled  among  these  either  unnecessary  or 
erroneous  statements,  I  find,  indeed,  some  that 
might  be  still  of  value,  but  these,  in  my  earlier 
books,  disfigured  by  affected  languages  partly 
through  the  desire  to  be  thought  a  fine  writer,  and 
partly,  as  in  the  second  volume  of  "  Modern 
Painters,"  in  the  notion  of  returning  as  far  as  I 
could  to  what  I  thought  the  better  style  of  old 
English  literature,  especially  to  that  of  my  then 
favorite  in  prose,  Richard  Hooker- 
Ill.  The  first  book  of  which  a  new  edition  is 
required  chances  to  be  "Sesame  and  lilies."  .  .  . 
I  am  glad  that  it  should  be  the  first  of  the  com- 
plete series,  for  many  reasons,  though  in  now  look- 
ing over  these  lectures,  I  am  painfully  struck  by 
the  waste  of  good  work  in  them.  They  cost  me 
much  thought  and  much  strong  emotion ;  but  it 
was  foolish  to  suppose  that  I  could  rouse  my 
audiences  in  a  little  while  to  any  sympathy  with 
the  temper  into  which  I  had  brought  myself  by 
years  of  thinking  over  subjects  full  of  pain,  while, 
if  I  missed  my  purpose  at  the  time,  it  was  little  to 
be  hoped  I  could  attain  it  afterward,  since 
phrases  written  for  oral  delivery  become  inefiect- 


PREFACE.  9 


ive  when  quietly  read.  Yet  I  should  only  takb 
away  what  good  is  in  them  if  I  tried  to  translate 
them  into  the  language  of  books;  nor,  indeed, 
could  I  at  all  have  done  so  at  the  time  of  their 
delivery,  my  thoughts  then  habitually  and  impa- 
tiently putting  themselves  into  forms  fit  only  for 
emphatic  speech.  And  thus  I  am  startled,  in  my 
review  of  them,  to  find  that  though  there  is  much 
(forgive  me  the  impertinence)  which  seems  to  me 
accurately  and  energetically  said,  there  is  scarcely 
anything  put  in  a  form  to  be  generally  convincing, 
or  even  easily  intelligible ;  and  I  can  well  imagine 
a  reader  laying  down  the  book  without  being  at  all 
moved  by  it,  still  less  guided  to  any  definite 
course  of  action. 

I  think,  however,  if  I  now  say  briefly  and 
clearly  what  I  meant  my  hearers  to  understand, 
and  what  I  wanted  and  still  would  fain  have  them 
to  do,  there  may  afterward  be  found  some  better 
service  in  the  passionately  written  text. 

IV.  The  first  lecture  says,  or  tries  to  say,  that 
life  being  very  short,  and  the  quiet  hours  of  it 
few,  we  ought  to  waste  none  of  them  in  reading 
valueless  books ;  and  that  valuable  books  should, 
in  a  civilized  country,  be  within  the  reach  of 
every  one,  printed  in  excellent  form,  for  a  just 
price,  but  not  in  any  vile,  vulgar,  or,  by  reason  of 


10  PREFACE. 


smallness  of  type,  physically  injurious  form,  at  a 
vile  price.  For  we  none  of  us  need  many  books, 
and  those  which  we  need  ought  to  be  clearly 
printed  on  the  best  paper,  and  strongly  bound. 
And  though  we  are  indeed  now  a  wretched  and 
poverty-struck  nation,  and  hardly  able  to  keep 
soul  and  body  together,  still,  as  no  person  in 
decent  circumstances  would  put  on  his  table  con- 
fessedly bad  wine,  or  bad  meat,  without  being 
ashamed,  so  he  need  not  have  on  his  shelves  ill- 
printed  or  loosely  and  wretchedly  stitched  books ; 
for  though  few  can  be  rich,  yet  every  man  who 
honestly  exerts  himself  may,  I  think,  still  provide, 
for  himself  and  his  family,  good  shoes,  good 
gloves,  strong  harness  for  his  cart  or  carriage 
horses,  and  stout  leather  binding  for  his  books. 
And  I  would  urge  upon  every  young  man,  as  the 
beginning  of  his  due  and  wise  provision  for  his 
household,  to  obtain  as  soon  as  he  can,  by  the 
severest  economy,  a  restricted,  serviceable,  and 
steadily — however  slowly — increasing  series  of 
books  for  use  through  life, — making  his  little 
library,  of  all  the  furniture  in  his  room,  the  most 
studied  and  decorative  piece,  every  volume  having 
its  assigned  place,  like  a  little  statue  in  its  niche, 
and  one  of  the  earliest  and  strictest  lessons  to  the 
children  of  the  house  being  how  to  turn  the  pages 


PREFACE.  11 

of  their  own  literary  possessions  lightly  and  de- 
liberately, with  no  chance  of  tearing  or  dogs' 
ears. 

V.  That  is  my  notion  of  the  founding  of  Kings' 
Treasuries ;  and  the   first  lecture  is  intended   to 
show  somewhat  the  use  and  preciousness  of  their 
treasures,  but  the  two  following  ones  have  wider 
scope,  being  written  in  the  hope  of  awakening  the 
youth  of  England,  so  far  as  my  poor  words  might 
have  any  power  with  them,  to  take  some  thought 
of  the  purposes  of  the  life  into  which  they  are  en- 
tering, and  the  nature  of  the  world  they  have  to 
conquer. 

VI.  These  two  lectures  are  fragmentary  and 
ill-arranged,  but  not,  I  think,  diffuse  or  much  com- 
pressible.    The  entire  gist  and  conclusion  of  them, 
however,  is  in  the  last  six  paragraphs,  135  to  the 
end,  of  the  third  lecture,  which  I  would  beg  the 
reader  to  look  over,  not  once  or  twice,  rather  than 
any  other  part  of  the  book,  for  they  contain  the 
best   expression  I   have   yet   been  able  to  put  in 
words   of  what,  so  far  as  is  within  my  power,  I 
mean   henceforward  both   to   do  myself,  and  to 
plead  with  all  over  whom  I  have  any  influence  to 
do  also,  according  to  their  means, — the  letters  be- 
gun on  the  first  day  of  this  year,1  to  the  workmen 

i  "  Fors  Clavigera,"  begun  in  1871. 


12  PREFACE. 


of  England,  having  the  object  of  originating,  if 
possible,  this  movement  among  them,  in  true  alli- 
ance with  whatever  trustworthy  element  of  help 
they  can  find  in  the  higher  classes.  After  these 
paragraphs,  let  me  ask  you  to  read,  by  the  fiery 
light  of  recent  events,  the  fable  given  at§  117,  and 
then§§  129-131,  and  observe  my  statement  re- 
specting the  famine  of  Orissa  is  not  rhetorical,  but 
certified  by  official  documents  as  within  the  truth. 
Five  hundred  thousand  persons,  at  least,  died  by 
starvation  in  our  British  dominions,  wholly  in  con- 
sequence of  carelessness  and  want  of  forethought. 
Keep  that  well  in  your  memory,  and  note  it  as  the 
best  possible  illustration  of  modern  political  econ- 
omy in  true  practice,  and  of  the  relations  it  has 
accomplished  between  Supply  and  Demand.  Then 
begin  the  second  lecture,  and  all  will  read  clear 
enough,  I  think,  to  the  end ;  only,  since  that  second 
lecture  was  written,  questions  have  arisen  respect- 
ing the  education  and  claims  of  women  which, 
have  greatly  troubled  simple  minds  and  excite^ 
restless  ones.  I  am  sometimes  asked  my  thoughts 
on  this  matter,  and  I  suppose  that  some  girl  read 
ers  of  the  second  lecture  may  at  the  end  of  it  de-- 
sire to  be  told  summarily  what  I  would  have  them 
do  and  desire  in  the  present  state  of  things.  This, 
,  is  what  I  would  say  to  any  girl  who  had  con- 


PREFACE.  13 


fidence  enough  in  me  to  believe  what  I  told  her,  or 
do  what  I  ask  her. 

VII.  First,  be  quite  sure  of  one  thing,  that, 
however  much  you  may  know,  and  whatever  ad- 
vantages you  may  possess,  and  however  good  you 
may  be,  you  have  not  been  singled  out  by  the  God 
who  made  you  from  all  the  other  girls  in  the  world, 
to  be  especially  informed  respecting  His  own  na- 
ture and  character.  You  have  not  been  born  in  a 
luminous  point  upon  the  surface  of  the  globe, 
where  a  perfect  theology  might  be  expounded  to 
you  from  your  youth  up,  and  where  everything 
you  were  taught  would  be  true,  and  everything 
that  was  enforced  upon  you,  right.  Of  all  the  in- 
solent, all  the  foolish  persuasions  that  by  any 
chance  could  enter  and  hold  your  empty  little 
heart,  this  is  the  proudest  and  foolishest, — that  you 
have  been  so  much  the  darling  of  the  Heavens 
and  favorite  of  the  Fates  as  to  be  born  in  the  very 
nick  of  time,  and  in  the  punctual  place,  when 
and  where  pure  Divine  truth  had  been  sifted  from 
the  errors  of  the  nations  ;  and  that  your  papa  had 
been  providentially  disposed  to  buy  a  house  in  the 
convenient  neighborhood  of  the  steeple  under 
which  that  immaculate  and  final  verity  would  be 
beautifully  proclaimed.  Do  not  think  it,  child  ; 
it  is  not  so.  This,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  fact,— 


14  PREFACE. 


unpleasant  you  may  think  it;  pleasant,  it  seems  to 
ttte, — that  you,  with  all  your  pretty  dresses  and 
dainty  looks  and  kindly  thoughts  and  saintly  aspi- 
rations, are  not  one  whit  more  thought  of  or  loved 
by  the  great  Maker  and  Master  than  any  poor  lit- 
tle red,  black,  or  blue  savage  running  wild  in  the 
pestilent  woods,  or  naked  on  the  hot  sands  of  the 
earth ;  and  that  of  the  two,  you  probably  know 
less  about  God  than  she  does,  the  only  difference 
being  that  she  thinks  little  of  Him  that  is  right, 
and  you,  much  that  is  wrong. 

That,  then,  is  the  first  thing  to  make  sure  of, — 
that  you  are  not  yet  perfectly  well  informed  on  the 
most  abstruse  of  all  possible  subjects,  and  that,  if 
you  care  to  behave  with  modesty  or  propriety,  you 
had  better  be  silent  about  it. 

VIII.  The  second  thing  which  you  may  make 
sure  of  is,  that  however  good  you  may  be,  you 
have  faults;  that  however  dull  you  may  be 
you  can  find  out  what  some  of  them  are ;  and 
that  however  slight  they  may  be,  you  had  bet- 
ter make  some — not  too  painful,  but  patient — ef- 
fort to  get  quit  of  them.  And  so  far  as  you  have 
confidence  in  me  at  all,  trust  me  for  this,  that  how 
many  soever  you  may  find  or  fancy  your  faults  to 
be,  there  are  only  two  that  are  cf  real  consequence, 
—Idleness  and  Cruelty.  Perhaps  you  may  be 


PREFACE.  16 

proud.  Well,  we  can  get  much  good  out  of  pride, 
if  only  it  be  not  religious.  Perhaps  you  may  be 
vain, — it  is  highly  probable,  and  very  pleasant  for 
the  people  who  like  to  praise  you.  Perhaps  you 
are  a  little  envious, — that  is  really  very  shocking  ; 
but  then — so  is  everybody  else.  Perhaps,  also, 
you  are  a  little  malicious,  which  I  am  truly  con- 
cerned to  hear,  but  should  probably  only  the  more, 
if  I  knew  you,  enjoy  your  conversation.  But 
whatever  else  you  may  be,  you  must  not  be  use- 
less, and  you  must  not  be  cruel.  If  there  is  any 
one  point  which,  in  six  thousand  years  of  thinking 
about  right  and  wrong,  wise  and  good  men  have 
agreed  upon,  or  successively  by  experience 
discovered,  it  is  that  God  dislikes  idle  and  cruel 
people  more  than  any  other ;  that  His  first  order 
is,  "  Work  while  you  have  light ;  "  and  His 
second,  "  Be  merciful  while  you  have  mercy." 

"Work  while  you  have  light,"  especially  while 
you  have  the  light  of  morning.  There  are  few 
things  more  wonderful  to  me  than  that  old  people 
never  tell  young  ones  how  precious  their  youth  is. 
They  sometimes  sentimentally  regret  their  own 
earlier  days,  sometimes  prudently  forget  them, 
often  foolishly  rebuke  the  young,  often  more  fool- 
ishly indulge,  often  most  foolishly  thwart  and  re- 
strain, but  scarcely  ever  warn  or  watch  them. 


16  PREFACE. 

Remember,  then,  that  I  at  least  have  warned  you 
that  the  happiness  of  your  life,  and  its  power,  and 
its  part  and  rank  in  earth  or  in  heaven,  depend  on 
the  way  you  pass  your  days  now.  They  are  net 
to  be  sad  days, — far  from  that,  the  first  duty  of 
young  people  is  to  be  delighted  and  delightful ; 
but  they  are  to  be  in  the  deepest  sense  solemn 
days.  There  is  no  solemnity  so  deep,  to  a  rightly 
thinking  creature,  as  that  of  dawn.  But  not  only 
in  that  beautiful  sense,  but  in  all  their  character 
and  method,  they  are  to  be  solemn  days.  Take 
your  Latin  dictionary,  and  look  out  "sollennis," 
and  fix  the  sense  of  the  word  well  in  your  mind, 
and  remember  that  every  day  of  your  early  life  is 
ordaining  irrevocably,  for  good  or  evil,  the  custom 
and  practice  of  your  soul, — ordaining  either  sacred 
customs  of  dear  and  lovely  recurrence,  or  trench- 
ing deeper  and  deeper  the  furrows  for  seed  of  sor- 
row. Now,  therefore,  see  that  no  day  passes  in 
which  you  do  not  make  yourself  a  somewhat  bet- 
ter creature ;  and  in  order  to  do  that,  find  out, 
first,  what  you  are  now.  Do  not  think  vaguely 
about  it ;  take  pen  and  paper,  and  write  down  at 
accurate  a  description  of  yourself  as  you  can,  with 
the  date  to  it.  If  you  dare  not  do  so,  find  out 
why  you  dare  not,  and  try  to  get  strength  of  heart 
enough  to  look  yourself  fairly  in  the  face,  in  mind 


PREFACE.  17 

as  well  as  body.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  the  mind 
is  a  less  pleasant  thing  to  look  at  than  the  face,  and 
for  that  very  reason  it  needs  more  looking  at ;  so 
always  have  two  mirrors  on  your  toilet-table,  and 
see  that  with  proper  care  you  dress  body  and 
mind  before  them  daily.  After  the  dressing  is 
once  over  for  the  day,  think  no  more  about  it.  As 
your  hair  will  blow  about  your  ears,  so  your 
temper  and  thoughts  will  get  ruffled  with  the  day's 
work,  and  may  need  sometimes  twice  dressing ; 
but  I  don't  want  you  to  carry  about  a  mental 
pocket-comb,  only  to  be  smooth  braided  always  in 
the  morning. 

IX.  Write  down,  then,  frankly,  what  you  are, 
or  at  least  what  you  think  yourself,  not  dwelling 
upon  those  inevitable  faults  which  I  have  just  told 
you  are  of  little  consequence,  and  which  the  ac- 
tion of  a  right  life  will  shake  or  smooth  away ;  but 
that  you  may  determine  to  the  best  of  your  intel- 
ligence what  you  are  good  for,  and  can  be  made 
into.  You  will  find  that  the  mere  resolve  not  to  be 
useless,  and  the  honest  desire  to  help  other  people, 
will,  in  the  quickest  and  delicatest  ways,  improve 
yourself.  Thus,  from  the  beginning,  consider  all 
your  accomplishments  as  means  of  assistance  to 
others;  read  attentively,  in  this  volume,  para- 
graphs 74,  75,  19,  and  79,  and  you  will  under- 
2 


18  PREFACE. 


stand  what  I  mean,  with  respect  to  languages  and 
music.  In  music  especially  you  will  soon  find 
what  personal  benefit  there  is  in  being  serviceable ; 
it  is  probable  that,  however  limited  your  powersp 
you  have  voice  and  ear  enough  to  sustain  a  note  oJ 
moderate  compass  in  a  concerted  piece, — that, 
then,  is  the  first  thing  to  make  sure  you  can  do. 
Get  your  voice  disciplined  and  clear,  and  think 
only  of  accuracy,  never  of  effect  or  expression.  If 
you  have  any  soul  worth  expressing,  it  will  show 
itself  in  your  singing ;  but  most  likely  there  are 
very  few  feelings  in  you  at  present  needing  any 
particular  expression,  and  the  one  thing  you  have 
to  do  is  to  make  a  clear-voiced  little  instrument  ot 
yourself,  which  other  people  can  entirely  depend 
upon  for  the  note  wanted.  So,  in  drawing,  as 
soon  as  you  can  set  down  the  right  shape  of  any- 
thing, and  thereby  explain  its  character  to  another 
person,  or  make  the  look  of  it  clear  and  interesting 
to  a  child,  you  will  begin  to  enjoy  the  art  vividly 
for  its  own  sake,  and  all  your  habits  of  mind  and 
powers  of  memory  will  gain  precision  ;  but  if  you 
only  try  to  make  showy  drawing  for  praise,  01 
pretty  ones  for  amusement,  your  drawing  will  have 
little  of  real  interest  for  you,  and  no  educational 
power  whatever. 

Then,  besides  this  more  delicate  work,  resolve 


PREFACE.  19 


to  do  every  day  some  that  is  useful  in  the  vulgar 
sense.  Learn  first  thoroughly  the  economy  of  the 
kitchen, — the  good  and  bad  qualities  of  every 
common  article  of  food,  and  the  simplest  and  best 
modes  of  their  preparation ;  when  you  have  time, 
go  and  help  in  the  cooking  of  poorer  families,  and 
show  them  how  to  make  as  much  of  everything  as 
possible,  and  how  to  make  little,  nice, — coaxing 
and  tempting  them  into  tidy  and  pretty  ways,  and 
pleading  for  well-folded  table-cloths,  however 
coarse,  and  for  a  flower  or  two  out  of  the  garden 
to  strew  on  them.  If  you  manage  to  get  a  clean 
table-cloth,  bright  plates  on  it,  and  a  good  dish  in 
the  middle,  of  your  own  cooking,  you  may  ask 
leave  to  say  a  short  grace  ;  and  let  your  religious 
ministries  be  confined  to  that  much  for  the 
present. 

X.  Again,  let  a  certain  part  of  your  day  (as 
little  as  you  choose,  but  not  to  be  broken  in  upon) 
be  set  apart  for  making  strong  and  pretty  dresses 
for  the  poor.  Learn  the  sound  qualities  of  all 
useful  stuffs,  and  make  everything  of  the  best  you 
can  get,  whatever  its  price.  I  have  many  reasons 
*br  desiring  you  to  do  this, — too  many  to  be  told 
just  now ;  trust  me,  and  be  sure  you  get  every- 
thing as  good  as  can  be.  And  if  in  the  villanons 
state  of  modern  trade,  you  cannot  get  it  good  at 


20  PREFACE. 


any  price,  buy  its  raw  material,  and  set  some  of 
the  poor  women  about  you  to  spin  and  weave,  till 
you  have  got  stuff  that  can  be  trusted  ;  and  then, 
every  day  make  some  little  piece  of  useful  cloth- 
ing, sewn  with  your  own  fingers  as  strongly  as  it 
can  be  stitched,  and  embroider  it  or  otherwise 
beautify  it  moderately  with  fine  needlework,  such 
as  a  girl  may  be  proud  of  having  done.  And 
accumulate  these  things  by  you  until  you  hear  of 
some  honest  persons  in  need  of  clothing,  which 
may  often  too  sorrowfully  be ;  and  even  though 
you  should  be  deceived,  and  give  them  to  the  dis- 
honest, and  hear  of  their  being  at  once  ta!:en  to 
the  pawnbroker's,  never  mind  that,  for  the  pawn- 
broker must  sell  them  to  some  one  who  has  need 
of  them.  That  is  no  business  of  yours;  what 
concerns  you  is  only  that  when  you  see  a  half- 
naked  child,  you  should  have  good  and  fresh 
clothes  to  give  it,  if  its  parents  will  let  it  be  taught 
to  wear  them.  If  they  will  not,  consider  how 
they  came  to  be  of  such  a  mind,  which  it  will  be 
'holesome  for  you  beyond  most  subjects  of  inquiry 
to  ascertain.  And  after  you  have  gone  on  doing 
this  a  little  while,  you  will  begin  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  at  least  one  chapter  of  your  Bible, — 
Proverbs  xxxi., — without  need  of  any  labored 
comment,  sermon,  or  meditation. 


PBBFACE.  21 

XI.  In  these,  then  (and  of  course  in  all  minor 
ways  besides,  that  you  can  discover  in  your  own 
household),  you  must  be  to  the  best  of  your 
strength  usefully  employed  during  the  greater  part 
of  the  day,  so  that  you  may  be  able  at  the  end  of 
it  to  say  as  proudly  as  any  peasant  that  you  have 
not  eaten  the  bread  of  idleness.  Then,  secondly, 
I  said,  you  are  not  to  be  cruel.  Perhaps  you  think 
there  is  no  chance  of  your  being  so,  and  indeed  I 
hope  it  is  not  likely  that  you  should  be  deliberately 
unkind  to  any  creature ;  but  unless  you  are  de- 
liberately kind  to  every  creature,  you  will  often  be 
cruel  to  many.  Cruel,  partly  through  want  of 
imagination  (a  far  rarer  and  weaker  faculty  in 
women  than  men),  and  yet  more,  at  the  present 
day,  through  the  subtle  encouragement  of  your 
selfishness  by  the  religious  doctrine  that  all  which 
we  now  suppose  to  be  evil  will  be  brought  to  3 
good  end, — doctrine  practically  issuing,  not  in 
less  earnest  efforts  that  the  immediate  unpleasant- 
ness may  be  averted  from  ourselves,  but  in  our 
remaining  satisfied  in  the  contemplation  of  it: 
ultimate  objects  when  it  is  inflicted  on  others. 

It  is  not  likely  that  the  more  accurate  methods 
of  recent  mental  education  will  now  long  permit 
young  people  to  grow  up  in  the  persuasion  that  in 
any  danger  or  distress  they  may  expect  to  be  them- 


22  PREFACE. 


selves  saved  by  the  providence  of  God,  while 
those  around  them  are  lost  by  His  improvidence  ; 
but  they  may  be  yet  long  restrained  from  rightly 
kind  action,  and  long  accustomed  to  endure  both 
their  own  pain  occasionally,  and  the  pain  of 
others  always,  with  an  unwise  patience,  by  mis- 
conception of  the  eternal  and  incurable  nature  of 
real  evil.  Observe,  therefore,  carefully  in  this 
matter :  there  are  degrees  of  pain,  as  degrees  of 
faultfulness,  which  are  altogether  conquerable,  and 
which  seem  to  be  merely  forms  of  wholesome  trial 
or  discipline.  Your  fingers  tingle  when  you  go 
out  on  a  frosty  morning,  and  are  all  the  warmer 
afterward,  your  limbs  weary  with  wholesome 
work,  and  lie  down  in  the  pleasanter  rest ;  you  are 
tried  for  a  little  while  by  having  to  wait  for  some 
promised  good,  and  it  is  all  the  sweeter  when  it 
comes.  But  you  cannot  carry  the  trial  past  a 
certain  point.  Let  the  cold  fasten  on  your  hand 
in  an  extreme  degree,  and  your  fingers  will 
moulder  from  their  sockets.  Fatigue  yourself  but 
once  to  utter  exhaustion,  and  to  the  end  of  life 
you  shall  not  recover  the  former  vigor  of  your 
frame.  Let  heart-sickness  pass  beyond  a  certain 
bitter  point,  and  the  heart  loses  its  life  forever. 

Now,   the   very   definition   of     evil  is   in    this 
irremediableness.     It  means  sorrow,  or  sin,  which 


PREFACE.  28 


end  in  death  ;  and  assuredly,  as  far  as  we  know, 
or  can  conceive,  there  are  many  conditions  both 
of  pain  and  sin  which  cannot  but  so  end.  Of 
course  we  are  ignorant  and  blind  creatures,  and 
we  cannot  know  what  seeds  of  good  may  be  in 
present  suffering,  or  present  crime  ;  but  with  what 
we  cannot  know,  we  are  not  concerned.  It  is  con- 
ceivable that  murderers  and  liars  may  in  some  dis- 
tant world  be  exalted  into  a  higher  humanity  than 
they  could  have  reached  without  homicide  or  false- 
hood ;  but  the  contingency  is  not  one  by  which 
our  actions  should  be  guided.  There  is  indeed  a 
better  hope  that  the  beggar  who  lies  at  our  gates 
in  misery  may  within  gates  of  pearl  be  com- 
forted ;  but  the  Master,  whose  words  are  our  only 
authority  for  thinking  so,  never  Himself  inflicted 
disease  as  a  blessing,  nor  sent  away  the  hungry 
unfed,  or  the  wounded  unhealed. 

XII.  Believe  me,  then,  the  only  right  principle 
of  action  here,  is  to  consider  good  and  evil  as  de- 
fined by  our  natural  sense  of  both,  and  to  strive  to 
promote  the  one,  and  to  conquer  the  other,  with 
as  hearty  endeavor  as  if  there  was  indeed  no  other 
world  than  this.  Above  all,  get  quit  of  the  absurd 
idea  that  Heaven  will  interfere  to  correct  great 
errors,  while  allowing  its  laws  to  take  their  course 
in  punishing  small  ones.  If  you  prepare  a  dish 


24  PREFACE. 


of  food  carelessly,  you  do  not  expect  Providence 
to  make  it  palatable  ;  neither  if  through  years  of 
folly  you  misguide  your  own  life,  need  you  expect 
Divine  interference  to  bring  round  everything  at 
last  for  the  best.  I  tell  you  positively  the  world 
is  not  so  constituted ;  the  consequences  of  great 
mistakes  are  just  as  sure  as  those  of  small  ones,  and 
the  happiness  of  your  whole  life,  and  of  all  the 
lives  over  which  you  have  power,  depends  as  liter- 
ally on  your  own  common-sense  and  discretion  as 
the  excellence  and  order  of  the  feast  of  a  day. 

XIII.  Think  carefully  and  bravely  over  these 
things,  and  you  will  find  them  true  ;  having  found 
them  so,  think  also  carefully  over  your  own  posi- 
tion in  life.  I  assume  that  you  belong  to  the  mid- 
dle or  upper  classes,  and  that  you  would  shrink 
from  descending  into  a  lower  sphere.  You  may 
fancy  you  would  not, — nay,  if  you  are  very  good, 
strong-hearted,  and  romantic,  perhaps  you  really 
would  not ;  but  it  is  not  wrong  that  you  should, 
You  have,  then,  I  suppose,  good  food,  pretty 
rooms  to  live  in,  pretty  dresses  to  wear,  power  of 
obtaining  every  rational  and  wholesome  pleasure ; 
you  are,  moreover,  probably  gentle  and  grateful, 
and  in  the  habit  of  every  day  thanking  God  f .  r 
these  things.  But  why  do  you  thank  Him  ?  Is  it 
because,  in  these  matters,  as  well  as  in  your  relig 


PREFACE.  25 

ious  knowledge,  you  think  He  has  made  a  favorite 
of  you?  Is  the  essential  meaning  of  your  thanks- 
giving, "Lord,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not  as 
other  girls  are,  not  in  that  I  fast  twice  in  the  week 
while  they  feast,  but  in  that  I  feast  seven  times  a 
week,  while  they  fast  "  ?  And  are  you  quite  sure 
this  is  a  pleasing  form  of  thanksgiving  to  your 
Heavenly  Father  ?  Suppose  you  saw  one  of  your 
own  true  earthly  sisters,  Lucy  or  Emily,  cast  out 
of  your  mortal  father's  house,  starving,  helpless, 
heart-broken ;  and  that  every  morning  when  you 
went  into  your  father's  room,  you  said  to  him, 
' '  How  good  you  are,  father,  to  give  me  what  you 
don't  give  Lucy!"  are  you  sure  that  whatevei 
anger  your  parent  might  have  just  cause  for  against 
your  sister,  he  would  be  pleased  by  that  thanks- 
giving, or  flattered  by  that  praise  ?  Nay,  are  you 
even  sure  that  you  are  so  much  the  favorite  ?  Sup- 
pose that  all  this  while  he  loves  poor  Lucy  just  as 
well  as  you,  and  is  only  trying  you  through  her 
pain,  and  perhaps  not  angry  with  her  in  anywise, 
but  deeply  angry  with  you,  and  all  the  more  for 
your  thanksgivings  ?  Would  it  not  be  well  that 
you  should  think,  and  earnestly  too,  over  this 
standing  of  yours ;  and  all  the  more  if  you  wish 
to  believe  that  text  which  clergyman  so  much  dis- 
like preaching  on,  "  How  hardly  shall  they  that 


26  PREFACE. 


have  riches  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God  "  ? 
You  do  not  believe  it  now,  or  you  would  be  leas 
complacent  in  your  state.  And  you  cannot  believe 
it  at  all  until  you  know  that  the  Kingdom  of  God 
means,  "  not  meat  and  drink,  but  justice,  peace, 
and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,"  nor  until  you  know 
also  that  such  joy  is  not  by  any  means  necessarily 
in  going  to  church,  or  in  singing  hymns,  but  may 
be  joy  in  a  dance,  or  joy  in  a  jest,  or  joy  in  any- 
thing you  have  deserved  to  possess,  or  that  you  are 
willing  to  give  ;  but  joy  in  nothing  that  separates 
you,  as  by  any  strange  favor,  from  your  fellow- 
creatures,  that  exalts  you  through  their  degrada- 
tion, exempts  you  from  their  toil,  or  indulges  you 
in  time  of  their  distress. 

XIV.  Think,  then,  and  some  day,  I  believe, 
you  will  feel  also,  no  morbid  passion  of  pity  such 
as  would  turn  you  into  a  black  Sister  of  Charity, 
but  the  steady  fire  of  perpetual  kindness,  which 
will  make  you  a  bright  one.  I  speak  in  no  dis- 
paragement of  them.  I  know  well  how  good  the 
Sisters  of  Charity  are,  and  much  we  owe  to  them  ; 
but  all  these  professional  pieties  (except  so  far  as 
distinction  or  association  may  be  necessary  for 
effectiveness  of  work)  are  in  their  spirit  wrong, 
and  in  practice  merely  plaster  the  sores  of  disease 
that  ought  never  have  been  permitted  to  exist, — 


PEEFACE.  2? 


encouraging  at  the  same  time  the  herd  of  less  ex- 
cellent women  in  frivolity,  by  leading  them  to 
think  that  they  must  either  be  good  up  to  the 
black  standard,  or  cannot  be  good  for  anything. 
Wear  a  costume,  by  all  means,  if  you  like ;  but 
let  it  be  a  cheerful  and  becoming  one,  and  be  in 
your  heart  a  Sister  of  Charity  always,  without 
either  veiled  or  voluble  declaration  of  it. 

XV.  As  I  pause,  before  ending  my  preface, — 
thinking  of  one  or  two  more  points  that  are  diffi- 
cult to  write  of, — I  find  a  letter  in  "  The  Times," 
from  a  French  lady,  which  says  all  I  want  so  beau- 
tifully that  I  will  print  it  just  as  it  stands  :— 

SIR, — It  is  often  said  that  one  example  is  worth  many 
sermons.  Shall  I  be  judged  presumptuous  if  I  point  out 
one  which  seems  to  me  so  striking  just  now  that,  hov/ever 
painful,  I  cannot  help  dwelling  upon  it  ? 

It  is  the  share,  the  sad  and  large  share,  that  French  so- 
ciety and  its  recent  habits  of  luxury,  of  expenses,  of  dress, 
of  indulgence  in  every  kind  of  extravagant  dissipation,  has 
to  lay  to  its  own  door  in  its  actual  crisis  of  ruin,  misery, 
and  humiliation.  If  our  minagtres  can  be  cited  as  an  ex- 
ample  to  English  housewives,  so,  alas !  can  other  classes  of 
our  society  be  set  up  as  an  example — net  to  be  followed. 

Bitter  must  be  the  feelings  of  many  a  Frenchwoman 
whose  days  of  luxury  and  expensive  habits  are  at  an  end, 
and  whose  bills  of  bygone  splendor  lie  with  a  heavy 
weight  on  her  conscience,  if  not  on  her  purse  ! 

With  us  the  evil  has  spread  high  and  low.      Everywhere 


28  PREFACE. 


have  the  examples  given  by  the  highest  ladies  in  the 
land  been  followed  but  too  successfully.  Every  year  did 
dress  become  more  extravagant,  entertainments  more  costly, 
expenses  of  every  kind  more  considerable.  Lower  and 
lower  became  the  tone  of  society,  its  good-breeding,  its 
delicacy.  More  and  more  were  monde  and  demi-monde 
associated  in  newspaper  accounts  of  fashionable  doings,  in 
scandalous  gossip,  on  race-courses,  in  premieres  reprtsenta- 
tions,  in  imitation  of  each  other's  costumes,  mobiliers,  and 
slang. 

Living  beyond  one's  means  became  habitual — almost 
necessary — for  every  one  to  keep  up  with,  if  not  to  go  be- 
yond, every  one  else. 

What  the  result  of  all  this  has  been  we  now  see  in  the 
wreck  of  our  prosperity,  in  the  downfall  of  all  that  seemed 
brighest  and  highest. 

Deeply  and  fearfully  impressed  by  what  my  own  country 
has  incurred  and  is  suffering,  I  cannot  help  feeling  sorrow- 
ful when  I  see  in  England  signs  of  our  besetting  sins  ap- 
pearing also.  Paint  and  chignons,  slang  and  vaudevilles, 
knowing  "  Anonymas  "  by  name,  and  reading  doubtfully 
moral  novels,  are  in  themselves  small  offences,  although 
not  many  years  ago  they  would  have  appeared  very  hein- 
ous ones ;  yet  they  are  quick  and  tempting  conveyances  on 
a  very  dangerous  high-road. 

I  would  that  all  Englishwomen  knew  how  they  are 
looked  up  to  from  abroad, — what  a  high  opinion,  what 
honor  and  reverence  we  foreigners  have  for  their  principles, 
their  truthfulness,  the  fresh  and  pure  innocence  of  their 
daughters,  the  healthy  youthfulness  of  their  lovely  chil- 
dren. 


PREFACE.  29 

May  I  illustrate  this  by  a  short  example  which  happened 
very  near  me  ?  During  the  days  of  the  emeutes  of  1848, 
all  the  houses  in  Paris  were  being  searched  for  fire-arms  by 
the  mob.  The  one  I  was  living  in  contained  none,  as  the 
.aaster  of  the  house  repeatedly  assured  the  furious  and  in- 
credulous Republicans.  They  were  going  to  lay  violent 
hands  on  him,  when  his  wife,  an  English  lady,  hearing  the 
loud  discussion,  came  bravely  forward  and  assured  them 
that  no  arms  were  concealed.  "  Vous  etes  anglaise,  nous 
vous  croyons ;  les  anglaises  disent  toujours  la  verite,"  was 
the  immediate  answer ;  and  the  rioters  quietly  left 

Now,  Sir,  shall  I  be  accused  of  unjustified  criticism  if, 
loving  and  admiring  your  country,  as  these  lines  will  prove, 
certain  new  features  strike  me  as  painful  discrepancies  in 
English  life  ? 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  preach  the  contempt  of  all  that  can 
make  life  lovable  and  wholesomely  pleasant.  I  love  noth- 
ing better  than  to  see  a  woman  nice,  neat,  elegant,  looking 
her  best  in  the  prettiest  dress  that  her  taste  and  purse  can 
afford,' or  your  bright,  fresh  young  girls  fearlessly  and  per- 
fectly sitting  their  horses,  or  adorning  their  houses  as  pretty 
[sic;  it  is  not  quite  grammar,  but  it  is  better  than  if  it 
were]  as  care,  trouble,  and  refinement  can  make  them. 

It  is  the  degree  beyond  that  which  to  us  has  proved  so 
fatal,  and  that  I  would  our  example  could  warn  you  from, 
.3  a  small  repayment  for  your  hospitality  and  friendliness  t» 
us  in  our  days  of  trouble. 

May  Englishwomen  accept  this  in  a  kindly  spirit  as  a 
new-year's  wish  from 

FRENCH  LADY. 
DECEMBER  29. 


30  PREFACE. 


That,  then,  is  the  substance  of  what  I  would 
fain  say  convincingly,  if  it  might  be,  to  my  girl 
friends ;  at  all  events  with  certainty  in  my  own 
mind  that  I  was  thus  far  a  safe  guide  to  them. 

XVI.  For  other  and  older  readers  it  is  needful 
1  should  write  a  few  words  more,  respecting  what 
opportunity  I  have  had  to  judge,  or  right  I  have  to 
speak,  of  such  things ;  for  indeed  too  much  of 
what  I  have  said  about  women  has  been  said  in 
faith  only.  A  wise  and  lovely  English  lady  told 
me,  when  "Sesame  and  Lilies  "  first  appeared, 
that  she  was  sure  the  Sesame  would  be  useful,  but 
that  in  the  Lilies  I  had  been  writing  of  what  I 
knew  nothing  about.  Which  was  in  a  measure  too 
true,  and  also  that  it  is  more  partial  than  my  writ- 
ings are  usually  ;  for  as  Ellesmere  spoke  his  speech 

on  the intervention,  not  indeed  otherwise  than 

he  felt,  but  yet  altogether  for  the  sake  of  Gretchen, 
so  I  wrote  the  Lilies  to  please  one  girl,  and  were  it 
not  for  what  I  remember  of  her,  and  of  few  be- 
sides, should  now  perhaps  recast  some  of  the  sen- 
tences in  the  Lilies  in  a  very  different  tone, — fo- 
as  years  have  gone  by,  it  has  chanced  to  me,  UD 
towardly  in  some  respects,  fortunately  in  others 
(because  it  enables  me  to  read  history  more  clearly), 
to  see  the  utmost  evil  that  is  in  women,  while  I 
have  had  but  to  believe  the  utmost  good.  The 


PREFACE.  31 


best  women  are  indeed  necessarily  the  most  diffi- 
cult to  know;  they  are  recognized  chiefly  in  the 
happiness  of  their  husbands  and  the  nobleness  of 
their  children.  They  are  only  to  be  divined,  not 
discerned,  by  the  stranger,  and  sometimes  seem 
almost  helpless  except  in  their  homes ;  yet  without 
the  help  of  one  of  them,1  to  whom  this  book  is 
dedicated,  the  day  would  probably  have  come  be- 
fore now,  when  I  should  have  written  and  thought 
no  more. 

XVII.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fashion  of  the 
time  renders  whatever  is  forward,  coarse,  or  sense- 
less in  feminine  nature,  too  palpable  to  all  men. 
The  weak  picturesqueness  of  my  earlier  writings 
brought  me  acquainted  with  much  of  their  empti- 
est enthusiasm  ;  and  the  chances  of  later  life  gave 
me  opportunities  of  watching  women  in  states  of 
degradation  and  vindictiveness  which  opened  to 
me  the  gloomiest  secrets  of  Greek  and  Syrian 
tragedy.  I  have  seen  them  betray  their  household 
charities  to  lust,  their  pledged  love  to  devotion  ;  I 
have  seen  mothers  dutiful  to  their  children  as 
Medea ;  and  children  dutiful  to  their  parents  as 
the  daughter  of  Herodias ;  but  my  trust  is  still 
unmoved  in  the  preciousness  of  the  natures  that 
are  so  fatal  in  their  error,  and  I  leave  the  words  of 


82  PREFACE. 


the  Lilies  unchanged  ;  believing,  yet,  that  no  man 
ever  lived  a  right  life  who  had  not  been  chastened 
by  a  woman's  love,  strengthened  by  her  courage, 
and  guided  by  her  discretion. 

XVIII.  What  I  might  myself  have  been,  so 
helped,  I  rarely  indulge  in  the  idleness  of  think- 
ing ;  but  what  I  am,  since  I  take  on  me  the  func- 
tion of  a  teacher,  it  is  well  that  the  reader  should 
know,  as  far  as  I  can  tell  him  : 

Not  an  unjust  person ;  not  an  unkind  one  ;  not 
a  false  one ;  a  lover  of  order,  labor,  and  peace. 
That,  it  seems  to  me,  is  enough  to  give  me  right 
to  say  all  I  care  to  say  on  ethical  subjects ;  more, 
I  could  only  tell  definitely  through  details  of  auto- 
biography such  as  none  but  prosperous  and  (in  the 
simple  sense  of  the  word)  faultless  lives  could  jus- 
tify,— and  mine  has  been  neither.  Yet  if  any  one 
skilled  in  reading  the  torn  manuscripts  of  the  hu- 
man soul  cares  for  more  intimate  knowledge  of  me, 
he  may  have  it  by  knowing  with  what  persons  in 
past  history  I  have  most  sympathy. 

I  will  name  three : — 

In  all  that  is  strongest  and  deepest  in  me, — that 
fits  me  for  my  work,  and  gives  light  or  shadow  to 
my  being, — I  have  sympathy  with  Guide  Guini- 
celli. 


PBBPACE.  83 


In  my  constant  natural  temper,  and  thoughts  of 
things  and  of  people,  with  Marrnontel. 

In  my  enforced  and  accidental  temper,  and 
thoughts  of  things  and  of  people,  with  Dean 
Swift. 

Any  one  who  can  understand  the  natures  of 
those  three  men,  can  understand  mine ;  and  hav- 
ing said  so  much,  I  am  content  to  leave  both  life 
and  work  to  be  remembered  or  forgotten,  as  their 
uses  may  deserve. 

DENMARK  HILL, 

Jan.  i,  1*71. 


I 

'  <&«o«irie* 


SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

LECTURE  L 

Kteamt. 

OF   KINGS'    TREASURIES. 

You  shall  each  have  a  cake  of  sesame, — and  ten  pound. 

LUCIAN  :  The  Fisherman* 

i.  JV/I  Y  first  duty  this  evening  is  to  ask  your  par- 
*  *  *  don  for  the  ambiguity  of  title  under 
which  the  subject  of  lecture  has  been  announced ; 
for  indeed  I  am  not  going  to  talk  of  kings,  known 
as  regnant,  nor  of  treasuries,  understood  to  con- 
tain wealth,  but  of  quite  another  order  of  royalty 
and  another  material  of  riches  than  those  usually 
acknowledged.  I  had  even  intended  to  ask  your 
attention  for  a  little  while  on  trust,  and  (as  some- 
times one  contrives,  in  taking  a  friend  to  see  a  fa- 
vorite piece  of  scenery)  to  hide  what  I  wanted 
most  to  show,  with  such  imperfect  cunning  as  I 

(37) 


38  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

might,  until  we  unexpectedly  reached  the  best 
point  of  view  by  winding  paths.  But — and  as  also 
I  have  heard  it  said,  by  men  practiced  in  public 
address,  that  hearers  are  never  so  much  fatigued  as 
by  the  endeavor  to  follow  a  speaker  who  gives 
them  no  clew  to  his  purpose — I  will  take  the  slight 
mask  off  at  once,  and  tell  you  plainly  that  I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  the  treasures  hidden  in 
books  ;  and  about  the  way  we  find  them,  and  the 
way  we  lose  them.  A  grave  subject,  you  will  say, 
and  a  wide  one  !  Yes  ;  so  wide  that  I  shall  make 
no  effort  to  touch  the  compass  of  it.  I  will  try 
only  to  bring  before  you  a  few  simple  thoughts 
about  reading,  which  press  themselves  upon  me 
every  day  more  deeply,  as  I  watch  the  course  of 
the  public  mind  with  respect  to  our  daily  enlarg- 
ing means  of  education,  and  the  answeringly  wider 
spreading  on  the  levels,  of  the  irrigation  of  litera- 
ture. 

2.  It  happens  that  I  have  practically  some  con- 
nection with  schools  for  different  classes  of  youth ; 
and  I  receive  many  letters  from  parents  respecting 
the  education  of  their  children.  In  the  mass  of 
these  letters  I  am  always  struck  by  the  precedence 
which  the  idea  of  a  "  position  in  life  "  takes  above 
all  other  thoughts  in  the  parents' — more  especially 
in  the  mothers' — minds.  "The  education  befit- 


OF  KINGS'   TBEASUfilBS.  39 

ting  such  and  such  a  station  in  life," — this  is  the 
phrase,  this  the  object,  always.  They  never  seek, 
as  far  as  I  can  make  out,  an  education  good  in  it- 
self ;  even  the  conception  of  abstract  Tightness  in 
training  rarely  seems  reached  by  the  writers.  But 
an  education  "  which  shall  keep  a  good  coat  on  my 
son's  back  ;  which  shall  enable  him  to  ring  with 
confidence  the  visitors'  bell  at  double-belled  doors ; 
which  shall  result  ultimately  in  the  establishment 
of  a  double-belled  door  to  his  own  house, — in  a 
word,  which  shall  lead  to  advancement  in  life, — 
this  we  pray  for  on  bent  knees ;  and  this  is  all  wf 
pray  for."  It  never  seems  to  occur  to  the  parent, 
that  there  may  be  an  education  which  in  itself  is 
advancement  in  Life ;  that  any  other  than  that 
may  perhaps  be  advancement  in  Death ;  and  that 
this  essential  education  might  be  more  easily  got, 
or  given,  than  they  fancy,  if  they  set  about  in  the 
right  way,  while  it  is  for  no  price  and  by  no  favor 
to  be  got,  if  they  set  about  it  in  the  wrong. 

3.  Indeed,  among  the  ideas  most  prevalent  and 
effective  in  the  mind  of  this  busiest  of  countries,  I 
suppose  the  first — at  least  that  which  is  confessed 
with  the  greatest  frankness,  and  put  forward  as  the 
fittest  stimulus  to  youthful  exertion — is  this  of 
"Advancement  in  life."  May  I  ask  you  to  con- 


40  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

sider  with  me  what  this  idea  practically  includes, 
and  what  it  should  include  ? 

Practically,  then,  at  present,  "advancement  in 
life"  means,  becoming  conspicuous  in  life, — ob- 
taining a  position  which  shall  be  acknowledged  by 
others  to  be  respectable  or  honorable.  We  do  not 
understand  by  this  advancement,  in  general,  the 
mere  making  of  money,  but  the  being  known  to 
have  made  it;  not  the  accomplishment  of  any 
great  aim,  but  the  being  seen  to  have  accomplished 
it.  In  a  word,  we  mean  the  gratification  of  our 
thirst  for  applause.  That  thirst,  if  the  last  infirm- 
ity of  noble  minds,  is  also  the  first  infirmity  of 
weak  ones,  and  on  the  whole,  the  strongest  impul- 
sive influence  of  average  humanity.  The  greatest 
efforts  of  the  race  have  always  been  traceable  to 
the  love  of  praise,  as  its  greatest  catastrophes  to  the 
love  of  pleasure. 

4.  I  am  not  about  to  attack  or  defend  this  im- 
pulse. I  want  you  only  to  feel  how  it  lies  at  the 
root  of  effort,  especially  of  all  modern  effort.  It  is 
the  gratification  of  vanity  which  is,  with  us,  the 
stimulus  of  toil  and  balm  of  repose.  So  closely 
does  it  touch  the  very  springs  of  life  that  the 
wounding  of  our  vanity  is  always  spoken  of  (and 
truly)  as  in  its  measure  mortal;  we  call  it  "mor- 
tification," using  the  same  expression  which  we 


OF   KINGS'    TKEASUiitES.  4i 

should  apply  to  a  gangrenous  and  incurable  bodily 
hurt.  And  although  a  few  of  us  may  be  physician* 
enough  to  recognize  the  various  effect  of  this  pas 
sion  upon  health  and  energy,  I  believe  most  hon 
?st  men  know,  and  would  at  once  acknowledge, 
its  leading  power  with  them  as  a  motive.  The 
seaman  does  not  commonly  desire  to  be  made  cap- 
tain only  because  he  knows  he  can  manage  the 
ship  better  than  any  other  sailor  on  board;  he 
wants  to  be  made  captain  that  he  may  be  called 
captain.  The  clergyman  does  not  usually  want  to 
be  made  a  bishop  only  because  he  believes  that  no 
other  hand  can,  as  firmly  as  his,  direct  the  diocese 
through  its  difficulties ;  he  wants  to  be  made 
bishop  primarily  that  he  may  be  called  "My 
Lord."  And  a  prince  does  not  usually  desire  to 
enlarge,  or  a  subject  to  gain,  a  kingdom  because 
he  believes  that  no  one  else  can  as  well  serve  the 
State  upon  its  throne,  but  briefly,  because  he 
wishes  to  be  addressed  as  "Your  Majesty"  by  as 
many  lips  as  may  be  brought  to  such  utterance. 

5.  This,  then,  being  the  main  idea  of  "ad- 
vancement in  life,"  the  force  of  it  applies  for  all 
of  us,  according  to  our  station,  particularly  to  that 
secondary  result  of  such  advancement  which  we 
call  "getting  into  good  society."  We  want  to 
get  into  good  society,  not  that  we  may  have  it,  but 


42  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

that  we  may  be  seen  in  it ;  and  our  notion  of  its 
goodness  depends  primarily  on  its  conspicuousness. 
Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  pause  for  a  moment  to 
put  what  I  fear  you  may  think  an  impertinent 
question?  I  never  can  go  on  with  an  address  un- 
less I  feel  or  know  that  my  audience  are  either 
with  me  or  against  me.  I  do  not  much  care 
which,  in  beginning ;  but  I  must  know  where  they 
are.  And  I  would  fain  find  out  at  this  instant 
whether  you  think  I  am  putting  the  motives  of 
popular  action  too  low.  I  am  resolved  to-night  to 
state  them  low  enough  to  be  admitted  as  probable ; 
for  whenever,  in  my  writings  on  Political  Econ- 
omy, I  assume  that  a  little  honesty,  or  generosity, 
— or  what  used  to  be  called  "virtue," — may  be 
calculated  upon  as  a  human  motive  of  action,  peo- 
ple always  answer  me,  saying,  "  You  must  not  cal- 
culate on  that ;  that  is  not  in  human  nature.  You 
must  not  assume  anything  to  be  common  to  men 
but  acquisitiveness  and  jealousy ;  no  other  feeling 
ever  has  influence  on  them,  except  accidentally, 
and  in  matters  out  of  the  way  of  business."  I  be- 
gin, accordingly,  to-night  low  in  the  scale  of  mo- 
tives; but  I  must  know  if  you  think  me  right  in 
doing  so.  Therefore,  let  me  ask  those  who  admit 
the  love  of  praise  to  be  usually  the  strongest  motive 
in  men's  minds  in  seeking  advancement,  and  the 


OF   KINGS'    TREASURIES.  43 

honest  desire  of  doing  any  kind  of  duty  to  be  an 
entirely  secondary  one,  to  hold  up  their  hands. 
(About  a  dozen  hands  held  up, — the  audience •, 
partly,  not  being  sure  the  lecturer  is  serious,  and 
partly,  shy  of  expressing  opinion.}  I  am  quite 
serious, — I  really  do  want  to  know  what  you  think ; 
however,  I  can  judge  by  putting  the  reverse  ques- 
tion. Will  those  who  think  that  duty  is  generally 
the  first,  and  love  of  praise  the  second,  motive, 
hold  up  their  hands  ?  ( One  hand  reported  to  have 
been  held  up,  behind  the  lecturer,}  Very  good  ;  I 
see  you  are  with  me,  and  that  you  think  I  have 
not  begun  too  near  the  ground.  Now,  without 
teasing  you  by  putting  farther  question,  I  venture 
to  assume  that  you  will  admit  duty  as  at  least  a 
secondary  or  tertiary  motive.  You  think  that  the 
desire  of  doing  something  useful,  or  obtaining 
some  real  good,  is  indeed  an  existent  collateral 
idea,  though  a  secondary  one,  in  most  men's  de- 
sire of  advancement.  You  will  grant  that  moder- 
ately honest  men  desire  place  and  office,  at  least 
in  some  measure,  for  the  sake  of  beneficent  power, 
and  would  wish  to  associate  rather  with  sensible 
and  well-informed  persons  than  with  fools  and  ig- 
norant persons,  whether  they  are  seen  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  sensible  ones  or  not.  And  finally, 
without  being  troubled  by  repetition  of  any  com- 


44  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

mon  truisms  about  the  preciousness  of  friends  and 
the  influence  of  companions,  you  will  admit, 
doubtless,  that  according  to  the  sincerity  of  our 
desire  that  our  friends  may  be  true,  and  our  com- 
panions wise,  and  in  proportion  to  the  earnestness 
and  discretion  with  which  we  choose  both,  will  be 
the  general  chances  of  our  happiness  and  useful- 
ness. 

6.  But  granting  that  we  had  both  the  will  and 
the  sense  to  choose  our  friends  well,  how  few  of  us 
have  the  power  ;  or  at  least,  how  limited  for  most 
is  the  sphere  of  choice  !  Nearly  all  our  associa- 
tions are  determined  by  chance  ^  r  necessity,  and 
restricted  within  a  narrow  circle.  We  cannot 
know  whom  we  would,  and  those  whom  we  know 
we  cannot  have  at  our  side  when  we  most  need 
them.  All  the  higher  circles  of  human  intelli- 
gence are,  to  those  beneath,  only  momentarily  and 
partially  open.  We  may  by  good  fortune  obtain 
a  glimpse  of  a  great  poet,  and  hear  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  or  put  a  question  to  a  man  of  science, 
and  be  answered  good-humoredly.  We  may  in- 
trude ten  minutes'  talk  on  a  cabinet  minister, 
answered  probably  with  words  worse  than  silence, 
being  deceptive,  or  snatch,  once  or  twice  in  our 
lives,  the  privilege  of  throwing  a  bouquet  in  the 
path  of  a  princess,  or  arresting  the  kind  glance  of 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  4b 

a  queen.  And  yet  these  momentary  chances  we 
covet,  and  spend  our  years  and  passions  and 
powers  in  pursuit  of  little  more  than  these;  while, 
meantime,  there  is  a  society  continually  open  to  us 
of  people  who  will  talk  to  us  as  long  as  we  like, 
whatever  our  rank  or  occupation, — talk  to  us  in 
the  best  words  they  can  choose,  and  of  the  things 
nearest  their  hearts.  And  this  society,  because  it 
is  so  numerous  and  so  gentle,  and  can  be  kept 
waiting  round  us  all  day  long  (kings  and  states- 
men lingering  patiently,  not  to  grant  audience, 
but  to  gain  it),  in  those  plainly  furnished  and 
narrow  anterooms,  our  book-case  shelves, — we 
make  no  account  of  that  company,  perhaps  never 
listen  to  a  word  they  would  say,  all  day  long. 

7.  You  may  tell  me,  perhaps,  or  think  within 
yourselves,  that  the  apathy  with  which  we  regard 
this  company  of  the  noble,  who  are  praying  us  to 
listen  to  them,  and  the  passion  with  which  we  pur- 
sue the  company  probably  of  the  ignoble,  who 
despise  us,  or  who  have  nothing  to  teach  us,  are 
grounded  in  this, — that  we  can  see  the  faces  of 
the  living  men ;  and  it  is  themselves,  and  not 
their  sayings,  with  which  we  desire  to  become 
familiar.  Buc  it  is  not  so.  Suppose  yo'^  never 
were  to  see  their  faces  ;  suppose  you  could  be  put 
behind  a  screen  in  the  statesman's  cabinet  or  the 


46  SESAME   AND   LILIES 

prince's  chamber,  would  you  not  be  glad  to  listen 
to  their  words,  though  you  were  forbidden  to 
advance  beyond  the  screen?  And  when  the 
screen  is  only  a  little  less,  folded  in  two  instead  of 
four,  and  you  can  be  hidden  behind  the  cover  of 
the  two  boards  that  bind  a  book,  and  listen  all 
day  long,  not  to  the  casual  talk,  but  to  the  studied, 
determined,  chosen  addresses  of  the  wisest  of 
men, — this  station  of  audience  and  honorable 
privy  council  you  despise  ! 

8.  But  perhaps  you  will  say  that  it  is  because 
the  living  people  talk  of  things  that  are  passing, 
and  are  of  immediate  interest  to  you,  that  you 
desire  to  hear  them.  Nay,  that  cannot  be  so  ;  for 
the  living  people  will  themselves  tell  you  about 
passing  matters  much  better  in  their  writings  than 
in  their  careless  talk.  But  I  admit  that  this 
motive  does  influence  you,  so  far  as  you  prefer 
those  rapid  and  ephemeral  writings  to  slow  and 
enduring  writings, — books,  properly  so-called. 
For  all  books  are  divisible  into  two  classes, — the 
books  of  the  hour,  and  the  books  of  all  time. 
Mark  this  distinction  ;  it  is  not  one  of  quality 
only.  It  is  not  merely  the  bad  book  that  does  not 
last,  and  the  good  one  that  does;  it  is  a  distinc- 
tion of  species.  There  are  good  books  for  the 
hour,  and  good  ones  for  all  time ;  bad  books  for 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  4T 

the   hour,    and   bad   ones  for  all  time.      I    must 
define  the  two  kinds  before  I  go  farther. 

9.  The  good  book  of  the  hour,  then, — I  do  not 
speak  of  the  bad  ones, — is  simply  the  useful  or 
pleasant  talk  of  some  person  whom  you  cannot 
otherwise  converse  with,  printed  for  you.  Very 
useful  often,  telling  you  what  you  need  to  know ; 
very  pleasant  often,  as  a  sensible  friend's  present 
talk  would  be.  These  bright  accounts  of  travels ; 
good-humored  and  witty  discussions  of  question ; 
lively  or  pathetic  story-telling  in  the  form  of 
novel ;  firm  fact-telling,  by  the  real  agents  con- 
cerned in  the  events  of  passing  history, — all  these 
books  of  the  hour,  multiplying  among  us  as  educa- 
tion becomes  more  general,  are  a  peculiar  posses- 
sion of  the  present  age.  We  ought  to  be  entirely 
thankful  for  them,  and  entirely  ashamed  of  our 
selves  if  we  make  no  good  use  of  them.  But  we 
make  the  worst  possible  use  if  we  allow  them  to 
usurp  the  place  of  true  books  ;  for,  strictly  speak- 
ing, they  are  not  books  at  all,  but  merely  letters  or 
newspapers  in  good  print.  Our  friend's  letter 
may  be  delightful  or  necessary  to-day, — whether 
worth  keeping  or  not,  is  to  be  considered.  The 
newspaper  may  be  entirely  proper  at  breakfast- 
time,  but  assuredly  it  is  not  reading  for  all  day ; 
80,  though  bound  up  in  a  volume,  the  long  letter 


48  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

which  gives  you  so  pleasant  an  account  of  the  inns 
and  roads  and  weather  last  year  at  such  a  place, 
or  which  tells  you  that  amusing  story,  or  gives  you 
the  real  circumstances  of  such  and  such  events, 
however  valuable  for  occasional  reference,  may 
not  be  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word  a  "  book  "  at 
all,  nor  in  the  real  sense  to  be  "read."  A  book 
is  essentially  not  a  talked  thing,  but  a  written 
thing,  and  written  not  with  a  view  of  mere  com- 
munication, but  of  permanence.  The  book  of 
talk  is  printed  only  because  its  author  cannot 
speak  to  thousands  of  people  at  once  ;  if  he  could 
he  would, — the  volume  is  mere  multiplication  of 
his  voice.  You  cannot  talk  to  your  friend  in 
India ;  if  you  could,  you  would.  You  write 
instead  ;  that  is  mere  conveyance  of  voice.  But  a 
book  is  written,  not  to  multiply  the  voice  merely, 
not  to  carry  it  merely,  but  to  perpetuate  it.  The 
author  has  something  to  say  which  he  perceives  to 
be  true  and  useful,  or  helpfully  beautiful.  So  far 
as  he  knows,  no  one  has  yet  said  it ;  so  far  as  he 
knows,  no  one  else  can  say  it.  He  is  bound  to 
say  it  clearly  and  melodiously,  if  he  may; 
clearly,  at  all  events.  In  the  sum  of  his  life  he 
finds  this  to  be  the  thing  or  group  of  things 
manifest  to  him, — this  the  piece  of  true  knowl- 
edge or  sight  which  his  share  of  sunshine  and 


OF   KINGS'    TREASURIES.  49 

earth  has  permitted  him  to  seize.  He  would  fain 
set  it  down  forever,  engrave  it  on  rock  if  he  could, 
saying,  ' '  This  is  the  best  of  me ;  for  the  rest,  I 
ate  and  drank  and  slept,  loved  and  hated  like 
another.  My  life  was  as  the  vapor,  and  is  not ; 
but  this  I  saw  and  knew, — this,  if  anything  of 
mine,  is  worth  your  memory."  That  is  his 
"writing;  "  it  is  in  his  small  human  way,  and 
with  whatever  degree  of  true  inspiration  is  in  him, 
his  inscription  or  scripture.  That  is  a  "  book." 

10.  Perhaps  you  think  no  books  were  evei  10 
written  ? 

But,  again,  I  ask  you,  do  you  at  all  believe  in 
honesty  or  at  all  in  kindness,  or  do  you  think 
there  is  never  any  honesty  or  benevolence  in 
wise  people  ?  None  of  us,  I  hope,  are  so  unhappy 
as  to  think  that.  Well,  whatever  bit  of  a  wise 
man's  work  is  honestly  and  benevolently  done, 
that  bit  is  his  book,  or  his  piece  of  art.1  It  is 
mixed  always  with  evil  fragments, — ill-done,  re- 
dundant, affected  work.  But  if  you  read  rightly, 
you  will  easily  discover  the  true  bits,  and  those 
are  the  book. 

11.  Now,  books  of  this  kind  have  been  written 
in  all  ages  by  their  greatest  men, — by  great  read- 

*  Note  this  sentence  carefully,  and  compare  the  "  Queen 
of  the  Air,"  §  106. 
4 


50  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

ers,  great  statesmen,  and  great  thinkers.  These 
are  all  at  your  choice;  and  Life  is  short.  You 
have  heard  as  much  before  ;  yet  have  you  meas- 
ured and  mapped  out  this  short  life  and  its  possi- 
bilities ?  Do  you  know,  if  you  read  this,  that  you 
cannot  read  that ;  that  what  you  lose  to-day  you 
cannot  gain  to-morrow  ?  Will  you  go  and  gossip 
with  your  housemaid  or  your  stable-boy,  when  you 
may  talk  with  queens  and  kings  ;  or  flatter  your- 
selves that  it  is  with  any  worthy  consciousness  of 
your  own  claims  to  respect  that  you  jostle  with  the 
hungry  and  common  crowd  for  entree  here,  and 
audience  there,  when 'all  the  while  this  eternal 
court  is  open  to  you,  with  iis  society,  wide  as  the 
world,  multitudinous  as  its  days, — the  chosen  and 
the  mighty  of  every  place  and  time  ?  Into  that 
you  may  enter  always  ;  in  that  you  may  take  fel- 
lowship and  rank  accordingly  to  your  wish  ;  from 
that,  once  entered  into  it,  you  can  never  be  an 
outcast  but  by  your  own  fault ;  by  your  aristocracy 
of  companionship  there,  your  own  inherent  aristoc- 
racy will  be  assuredly  tested,  and  the  motives  with 
which  you  strive  to  take  high  place  in  the  society 
of  the  living,  measured,  as  to  all  the  truth  and  sin- 
cerity that  are  in  them,  by  the  place  you  desire  to 
take  in  this  company  of  the  dead. 

12.  "The  place  you  desire,  "  and   the  place 


OF   KINGS'   TEEASURIBS.  51 

you  fit  yourself  for,  I  must  also  say,  because,  ob- 
serve, this  court  of  the  past  differs  from  all  living 
aristocracy  in  this,— it  is  open  to  labor  and  to 
merit,  but  to  nothing  else.  No  wealth  will  bribe, 
no  name  overawe,  no  artifice  deceive,  the  guard- 
ian of  those  Elysian  gates.  In  the  deep  sense,  no 
vile  or  vulgar  person  ever  enters  there.  At  the 
portieres  of  that  silent  Faubourg  St.  Germain, 
there  is  but  brief  question :  "  Do  you  deserve  to 
enter  ?  Pass.  Do  you  ask  to  be  the  companion 
of  nobles?  Make  yourself  noble,  and  you  shall 
be.  Do  you  long  for  the  conversation  of  the 
wise  ?  Learn  to  understand  it,  and  you  shall  hear 
it.  But  on  other  terms? — No.  If  you  will  not 
rise  to  us,  we  cannot  stoop  to  you.  The  living 
lord  may  assume  courtesy,  the  living  philosopher 
explain  his  thought  to  you  with  considerate  pain ; 
but  here  we  neither  feign  nor  interpret.  You  must 
rise  to  the  level  of  our  thoughts  if  you  would  be 
gladdened  by  them,  and  share  our  feelings  if  you 
would  recognize  our  presence." 

13.  This,  then,  is  what  you  have  to  do,  and  I 
•admit  that  it  is  much.  You  must,  in  a  word,  love 
these  people,  if  you  are  to  be  among  them.  No 
ambition  is  of  any  use.  They  scorn  your  ambi- 
tion. You  must  love  them,  and  show  your  love  in 
these  two  following  ways  : — 


52  SESAME    AND    LILIES. 

(a)  First,  by  a  true  desire  to  be  taught  by  them, 
and  to  enter  into  their  thoughts.  To  enter  into 
theirs,  observe,  not  to  find  your  own  expressed  by 
them.  If  the  person  who  wrote  the  book  is  not 
viser  than  you,  you  need  not  read  it;  if  he  be; 
e  will  think  differently  from  you  in  many  re- 
spects. 

Very  ready  we  are  to  say  of  a  book,  "How 
good  this  is, — that's  exactly  what  I  think  !  "  But 
the  right  feeling  is,  "  How  strange  that  is  !  I 
never  thought  of  that  before,  and  yet  I  see  it  is 
true  ;  or  if  I  do  not  now,  I  hope  I  shall  some  day." 
But  whether  thus  submissively  or  not,  at  least  be 
sure  that  you  go  to  the  author  to  get  at  his  mean- 
ing, not  to  find  yours.  Judge  it  afterward  if  you 
think  yourself  qualified  to  do  so  ;  but  ascertain  it 
first.  And  be  sure  also,  if  the  author  is  worth 
anything,  that  you  will  not  get  at  his  meaning  all 
at  once, — nay,  that  at  his  whole  meaning  you  will 
not  for  a  long  time  arrive  in  any  wise.  Not  that 
he  does  not  say  what  he  means,  and  in  strong 
words  too  ;  but  he  cannot  say  it  all,  and  what  is 
more  strange,  will  not,  but  in  a  hidden  way  and 
in  parables,  in  order  that  he  may  be  sure  you 
want  it.  I  cannot  quite  see  the  reason  of  this, 
nor  analyze  that  cruel  reticence  in  the  breasts  of 
wise  men  which  makes  them  always  hide  their 


OF   KINGS'    TREASURIES.  53 

deeper  thought.  They  do  not  give  it  you  by  way 
of  help,  but  of  reward,  and  will  make  themselves 
sure  that  you  deserve  it  before  they  allow  you  to 
reach  it.  But  it  is  the  same  with  the  physic?' 
type  of  wisdom,  gold.  There  seems,  to  you  an* 
me,  no  reason  why  the  electric  forces  of  the  earth 
should  not  carry  whatever  there  is  of  gold  within 
it  at  once  to  the  mountain-tops ;  so  the  kings  and 
people  might  know  that  all  the  gold  they  could 
get  was  there,  and  without  any  trouble  of  digging, 
or  anxiety,  or  chance,  or  waste  of  time,  cut  it  away, 
and  coin  as  much  as  they  needed.  But  Nature 
does  not  manage  it  so.  She  puts  it  in  little  fis- 
sures in  the  earth,  nobody  knows  where.  You  may 
dig  long  and  find  none ;  you  must  dig  painfully  to 
find  any. 

14.  And  it  is  just  the  same  with  men's  best  wis- 
dom. When  you  come  to  a  good  book,  you  must 
ask  yourself,  ' '  Am  I  inclined  to  work  as  an  Aus- 
tralian miner  would  ?  Are  my  pickaxes  and 
shovels  in  good  order,  and  am  I  in  good  trim,  my- 
self, my  sleeves  well  up  to  the  elbow,  and  my 
breath  good,  and  my  temper  ?  "  And  keeping  the 
figure  a  little  longer,  even  at  cost  of  tiresomeness, 
for  it  is  a  thoroughly  useful  one,  the  metal  you  are 
in  search  of  being  the  author's  mind  or  meaning, 
his  words  are  as  the  rock  which  you  have  to  crush 


64  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

and  smelt  in  order  to  get  at  it.  And  your  pick- 
axes are  your  own  care,  wit,  and  learning  ;  your 
smelting  furnace  is  your  own  thoughtful  soul.  Do 
not  hope  to  get  at  any  good  author's  meaning  with- 
out those  tools  and  that  fire  ;  often  you  will  need 
sharpest,  finest  chiselling  and  patientest  fusing  be- 
fore you  can  gather  one  grain  of  the  metal. 

15.  And,  therefore,  first  of  all,  I  tell  you  earn- 
estly and  authoritatively  (I  know  I  am  right  in  this) 
you  must  get  into  the  habit  of  looking  intensely  at 
words,  and  assuring  yourself  of  their  meaning, 
syllable  by  syllable — nay,  letter  by  letter.  For 
though  it  is  only  by  reason  of  the  opposition  of 
letters  in  the  function  of  signs  to  sounds  in  the 
function  of  signs,  that  the  study  of  books  is  called 
*'  literature,"  and  that  a  man  versed  in  it  is  called, 
by  the  consent  of  nations,  a  man  of  letters  instead 
of  a  man  of  books  or  of  words,  you  may  yet  con- 
nect with  that  accidental  nomenclature  this  real 
fact, — that  you  might  read  all  the  books  in  the 
British  Museum  (if  you  could  live  long  enough) 
and  remain  an  utterly  "  illiterate,"  uneducated 
person  ;  but  that  if  you  read  ten  pages  of  a  good 
book,  letter  by  letter, — that  is  to  say,  with  real 
accuracy, — you  are  forevermore  in  some  measure 
an  educated  person.  The  entire  difference  between 
education  and  non -education  (as  regards  the 


OF   KINGS'    TREASURIES.  55 


mereiy  intellectual  part  of  it)  consists  in  this  ac- 
curacy. A  well-educated  gentleman  may  not 
know  many  languages,  may  not  be  able  to  speak 
any  but  his  own,  may  have  read  very  few  books. 
But  whatever  language  he  knows,  he  knows  pre- 
cisely; whatever  word  he  pronounces,  he  pro- 
nounces rightly.  Above  all,  he  is  learned  in  the 
peerage  of  words,  knows  the  words  of  true  descent 
and  ancient  blood,  at  a  glance,  from  the  words  of 
modern  canaille,  remembers  all  their  ancestry, 
their  intermarriages,  distant  relationships,  and  the 
extent  to  which  they  were  admitted,  and  offices 
they  held,  among  the  national  noblesse  of  words  at 
any  time  and  in  any  country.  But  an  uneducated 
person  may  know,  by  memory,  many  languages, 
and  talk  them  all,  and  yet  truly  know  not  a  word 
of  any, — not  a  word  even  of  his  own.  An  ordin- 
arily clever  and  sensible  seaman  will  be  able  to 
make  his  way  ashore  at  most  ports,  yet  he  has  only 
to  speak  a  sentence  of  any  language  to  be  known 
for  an  illiterate  person  ;  so  also  the  accent,  or  turn 
of  expression  of  a  single  sentence,  will  at  once 
mark  a  scholar.  And  this  is  so  strongly  felt,  so 
conclusively  admitted,  by  educated  persons,  that  a 
false  accent  or  a  mistaken  syllable  is  enough,  in 
the  parliament  of  any  civilized  nation,  to  assign 


56  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

to  a  man  a  certain  degree  of  inferior  standing  for- 
ever. 

16.  And  this  is  right ;  but  it  is  a  pity  that  the 
accuracy  insisted  on  is  not  greater,  and  required  to 
a  serious  purpose.  It  is  right  that  a  false  Latin 
quantity  should  excite  a  smile  in  the  House  of 
Commons ;  but  it  is  wrong  that  a  false  English 
meaning  should  not  excite  a  frown  there.  Let  the 
accent  of  words  be  watched,  and  closely;  let 
their  meaning  be  watched  more  closely  still,  and 
fewer  will  do  the  work.  A  few  words,  well  chosen 
and  distinguished,  will  do  work  that  a  thousand 
cannot,  when  every  one  is  acting,  equivocally,  in 
the  function  of  another.  Yes ;  and  words,  if 
they  are  not  watched,  will  do  deadly  work  some- 
times. There  are  masked  words  droning  and 
skulking  about  us  in  Europe  just  now  (there  never 
were  so  many,  owing  to  the  spread  of  a  shallow, 
blotching,  blundering,  infectious  "  information," 
or  rather  deformation,  everywhere,  and  to  the 
teaching  of  catechisms  and  phrases  at  schools  in- 
stead of  human  meanings) — there  are  masked 
vvords  abroad,  I  say,  which  nobody  understands, 
but  which  everybody  uses,  and  most  people  will 
also  fight  for,  live  for,  or  even  die  for,  fancying 
they  mean  this  or  that  or  the  other  of  things  dear 
to  them;  for  such  words  wear  chameleon  cloaks, — 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  57 

"ground-lion  "  cloaks,  of  the  color  of  the  ground 
of  any  man's  fancy ;  on  that  ground  they  lie  in 
wait,  and  rend  him  with  a  spring  from  it.  There 
never  were  creatures  of  prey  so  mischievous, 
never  diplomatists  so  cunning,  never  poisoners  so 
deadly,  as  these  masked  words  ;  they  are  the  un- 
just stewards  of  all  men's  ideas.  Whatever  fancy 
or  favorite  instinct  a  man  most  cherishes,  he  gives 
to  his  favorite  masked  word  to  take  care  of  for 
him.  The  word  at  last  comes  to  have  an  infinite 
power  over  him, — you  cannot  get  at  him  but  by 
its  ministry. 

17.  And  in  languages  so  mongrel  in  breed  as 
the  English,  there  is  a  fatal  power  of  equivocation 
put  into  men's  hands,  almost  whether  they  will  or 
no,  in  being  able  to  use  Greek  or  Latin  words  for 
an  idea  when  they  want  it  to  be  awful,  and  Saxon 
or  otherwise  common  words  when  they  want  it  to 
be  vulgar.  What  a  singular  and  salutary  effect, 
for  instance,  would  be  produced  on  the  minds  of 
people  who  are  in  the  habit  of  taking  the  form  of 
the  "  Word  "  they  live  by  for  the  power  of  which 
that  Word  tells  them,  if  we  always  either  retained, 
or  refused,  the  Greek  form  "biblos,"  or  "bib- 
lion,"  as  the  right  expression  for  "book,"  instead 
of  employing  it  only  in  the  one  instance  in  which 
we  wish  to  give  dignity  to  the  idea,  and  translat- 


58  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

ing  it  into  English  everywhere  else.  How  whole- 
some it  would  be  for  many  simple  persons  if  in 
such  places  (for  instance)  as  Acts  xix.  19,  we  re- 
tained the  Greek  expression  instead  of  translating 
it,  and  they  had  to  read  :  "  Many  of  them  also 
which  used  curious  arts  brought  their  Bibles  to- 
gether, and  burned  them  before  all  men ;  and 
they  counted  the  price  of  them,  and  found  it  fifty 
thousand  pieces  of  silver  "  !  Or  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  translated  where  we  retain  it,  and  always 
spoke  of  "  the  Holy  Book,"  instead  of  "  Holy 
Bible,"  it  might  come  into  more  heads  than  it  does 
at  present  that  the  Word  of  God,  by  which  the 
heavens  were  of  old,  and  by  which  they  are  now 
kept  in  store,1  cannot  be  made  a  present  of  to  any- 
body in  morocco  binding,  nor  sown  on  any  way- 
side by  help  either  of  steam  plough  or  steam  press, 
but  is  nevertheless  being  offered  to  us  daily,  and 
by  us  with  contumely  refused,  and  sown  in  us 
daily,  and  by  us,  as  instantly  as  may  be,  choked. 

18.  So,  again,  consider  what  effect  has  been  pro- 
duced on  the  English  vulgar  mind  by  the  use  of 
the  sonorous  Latin  form  "  damno,''  in  translating 
the  Greek  karakpivio,  when  people  charitably  wish 
to  make  it  forcible ;  and  the  substitution  of  the 
temperate  "condemn"  for  it,  when  they  choose 
i  2  Peter  iii.  5-7. 


OF   KINGS     TBEASUBIES.  59 

to  keep  it  gentle ;  and  what  notable  sermons  have 
been  preached  by  illiterate  clergymen  on  ' '  Pie 
that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned,"  though  they 
would  shrink  with  horror  from  translating  Heb. 
xi.  7,  "The  saving  of  his  house,  by  which  he 
damned  the  world,"  or  John  viii.  10-11,  "Wo- 
man, hath  no  man  damned  thee  ?  She  said,  No 
man,  Lord.  Jesus  answered  her,  Neither  do  I 
damn  thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more."  And  divisions 
in  the  mind  of  Europe,  which  have  cost  seas 
of  blood,  and  in  the  defence  of  which  the  noblest 
souls  of  men  have  been  cast  away  in  frantic  deso- 
lation, countless  as  forest-leaves, — though,  in  the 
heart  of  them,  founded  on  deeper  causes, — have 
nevertheless  been  rendered  practically  possible 
mainly  by  the  European  adoption  of  the  Greek 
word  for  a  public  meeting,  "  ecclesia,"  to  give 
peculiar  respectability  to  such  meetings,  when  held 
for  religious  purposes  and  other  collateral  equivoca- 
tions, such  as  the  vulgar  English  one  of  using  the 
word  "priest"  as  a  contraction  for  "  presbyter." 
19.  Now,  in  order  to  deal  with  words  rightly, 
this  is  the  habit  you  must  form.  Nearly  every 
word  in  your  language  has  been  first  a  word  of 
some  other  language, — of  Saxon,  German,  French, 
Latin,  or  Greek  (not  to  speak  of  Eastern  and 
primitive  dialects).  And  many  words  have  been 


SO  SESAME   AND    LILIES. 

all  these ;  that  is  to  say,  have  been  Greek  first, 
Latin  next,  French  or  German  next,  and  English 
last, — undergoing  a  certain  change  of  sense  and 
use  on  the  lips  of  each  nation,  but  retaining  a  deep 
vital  meaning,  which  all  good  scholars  feel  in  em- 
ploying them,  even  at  this  day.  If  you  do  not 
know  the  Greek  alphabet,  learn  it.  Young  or  old, 
girl  or  boy,  whoever  you  may  be,  if  you  think  of 
reading  seriously  (which,  of  course,  implies  that 
you  have  some  leisure  at  command),  learn  your 
Greek  alphabet ;  then  get  good  dictionaries  of  all 
these  languages,  and  whenever  you  are  in  doubt 
about  a  word,  hunt  it  down  patiently.  Read  Max 
Miiller's  lectures  thoroughly,  to  begin  with ;  and 
after  that,  never  let  a  word  escape  you  that  looks 
suspicious.  It  is  severe  work ;  but  you  will  find 
it,  even  at  first,  interesting,  and  at  last,  endlessly 
amusing.  And  the  general  gain  to  your  character 
in  power  and  precision  will  be  quite  incalculable. 

Mind,  this  does  not  imply  knowing,  or  trying  to 
know,  Greek  or  Latin  or  French.  It  takes  a  whole 
life  to  learn  any  language  perfectly.  But  you  can 
easily  ascertain  the  meanings  through  which  the 
English  word  has  passed,  and  those  which  in  a 
good  writer's  work  it  must  still  bear. 

20.  And  now,  merely  for  example's  sake,  I  will, 
with  your  permission,  read  a  few  lines  of  a  true 


OF   KINGS'   TBEASURIES.  61 

book  with  you  carefully,  and  see  what  will  come 
out  of  them.  I  will  take  a  book  perfectly  known 
to  you  all.  No  English  words  are  more  familiar  to 
us,  yet  few  perhaps  have  been  read  with  less  sin- 
cerity. I  will  take  these  few  following  lines  of 
"  Lycidas  "  :  — 

"  Last  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake. 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain)  : 
He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake : 
4  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep  and  intrude  and  climb  into  the  fold ! 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest ; 
Blind  mouths !  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to  hol<J 
A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learned  aught  else,  the  least 
That  to  the  faithful  herdsman's  art  belongs  ! 
What  recks  it  them  ?    What  need  they  ?    They  are  sped; 
And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw. 
The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed, 
But  swoln  with  wind,  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread, 
Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said.'  " 


62  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 


Let  us  think  over  this  passage,  and  examine  its 
words. 

First,  is  it  not  singular  to  find  Milton  assigning 
to  Saint  Peter  not  only  his  full  episcopal  function, 
but  the  very  types  of  it  which  Protestants  usually 
refuse  most  passionately  ?  His  ' '  mitred  ' '  locks  ! 
Milton  was  no  bishop-lover;  how  comes  Saint 
Peter  to  be  "mitred"?  "Two  massy  keys  he 
bore."  Is  this,  then,  the  power  of  the  keys 
claimed  by  the  bishops  of  Rome,  and  is  it  ac- 
knowledged here  by  Milton  only  in  a  poetical 
license,  for  the  sake  of  its  picturesqueness,  that  he 
may  get  the  gleam  of  the  golden  keys  to  help  his 
effect  ? 

Do  not  think  it.  Great  men  do  not  play  stage 
tricks  with  the  doctrines  of  life  and  death ;  only 
little  men  do  that.  Milton  means  what  he  says, 
and  means  it  with  his  might,  too, — is  going  to  put 
the  whole  strength  of  his  spirit  presently  into  the 
saying  of  it.  For  though  not  a  lover  of  false 
bishops,  he  was  a  lover  of  true  ones ;  and  the 
Lake-pilot  is  here,  in  his  thoughts,  the  type  and 
head  of  true  episcopal  power.  For  Milton  reads 
that  text,  ' '  I  will  give  unto  thee  the  keys  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven"  quite  hondstly.  Puritan 
though  he  be,  he  would  not  blot  it  out  of  the  book 
because  there  have  been  bad  bishops, — nay,  in 


OF   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  63 

order  to  .understand  him,  we  must  understand  that 
verse  first ;  it  will  not  do  to  eye  it  askance,  or 
whisper  it  under  our  breath,  as  if  it  were  a  weapon 
of  an  adverse  sect.  It  is  a  solemn,  universal  asser- 
tion, deeply  to  be  kept  in  mind  by  all  sects.  But 
perhaps  we  shall  be  better  able  to  reason  on  it  if 
we  go  on  a  little  farther,  and  come  back  to  it ;  for 
clearly  this  marked  insistence  on  the  power  of  the 
true  episcopate  is  to  make  us  feel  more  weightily 
what  is  to  be  charged  against  the  false  claimants 
of  episcopate,  or  generally,  against  false  claimants 
of  power  and  rank  in  the  body  of  the  clergy,  they 
who  "for  their  bellies'  sake  creep  and  intrude  and 
climb  into  the  fold." 

21.  Never  think  Milton  uses  those  three  words 
to  fill  up  his  verse,  as  a  loose  writer  would.  He 
needs  all  the  three, — specially  those  three,  and  no 
more  than  those, — "creep"  and  "intrude"  and 
' '  climb ;  "  no  other  words  would  or  could  serve 
the  turn,  and  no  more  could  be  added.  For  they 
exhaustively  comprehend  the  three  classes,  corre- 
spondent to  the  three  characters,  of  men  who  dis- 
honestly seek  ecclesiastical  power.  First,  those 
who  "  creep  "  into  the  fold,  who  do  not  care  for 
office,  nor  name,  but  for  secret  influence,  and  do 
all  things  occultly  and  cunningly,  consenting  to 
any  servility  of  office  or  conduct,  so  only  that 


64  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

they  may  intimately  discern,  and  unawares  direct, 
the  minds  of  men.  Then  those  who  "  intrude  " 
(thrust,  that  is)  themselves  into  the  fold,  who  by 
natural  insolence  of  heart  and  stout  eloquence  of 
tongue  and  fearlessly  perseverant  self-assertion 
obtain  hearing  and  authority  with  the  common 
crowd.  Lastly,  those  who  "  climb,"  who,  by 
labor  and  learning  both  stout  and  sound,  but  self- 
ishly exerted  in  the  cause  of  their  own  ambition, 
gain  high  dignities  and  authorities,  and  become 
"lords  over  the  heritage,"  though  not  "ensamp- 
les  to  the  flock." 
22.  Now  go  on  : — 

"  Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast. 
Blind  mouths—" 

I  pause  again,  for  this  is  a  strange  expression, — 
a  broken  metaphor,  one  might  think,  careless  and 
unscholarly. 

Not  so ;  its  very  audacity  and  pithiness  are  in- 
tended to  make  us  look  close  at  the  phrase  and 
remember  it.  Those  two  monosyllables  express 
the  precisely  accurate  contraries  of  right  character 
in  the  two  great  offices  of  the  Church, — those  of 
bishop  and  pastor. 

A  "  bishop  "  means  "  a  person  who  sees." 


Sesame  and  Lilies    i 


JOHN   MILTON. 


OF   KINGS*   TREASURIES.  65 


A  "  pastor  "  means  "  a  person  who  feeds." 

The  most  unbishoply  character  a  man  can  have 
is  therefore  to  be  blind. 

The  most  unpastoral  is,  instead  of  feeding,  to 
ivant  to  be  fed, — to  be  a  mouth. 

Take  the  two  reverses  together,  and  you  have 
"blind  mouths."  We  may  advisably  follow  out 
this  idea  a  little.  Nearly  all  the  evils  in  the 
Church  have  arisen  from  bishops  desiring  power 
more  than  light.  They  want  authority,  not  out- 
look; whereas  their  real  office  is  not  to  rule, 
though  it  may  be  vigorously  to  exhort  and  rebuke. 
It  is  the  king's  office  to  rule ;  the  bishop's  office 
is  to  oversee  the  flock,  to  number  it,  sheep  by 
sheep,  to  be  ready  always  to  give  full  account  of 
it.  Now,  it  is  clear  he  cannot  give  account  of  the 
souls,  if  he  has  not  so  much  as  numbered  the 
bodies,  of  his  flock.  The  first  thing,  therefore, 
that  a  bishop  has  to  do  is  at  least  to  put  him- 
self in  a  position  in  which,  at  any  moment,  he 
can  obtain  the  history  from  childhood  of  every 
living  soul  in  his  diocese,  and  of  its  present  state. 
Down  in  that  back  street,  Bill  and  Nancy  knocking 
each  other's  teeth  out, — does  the  bishop  know  all 
about  it  ?  Has  he  his  eye  upon  them  ?  Has  he 
had  his  eye  upon  them  ?  Can  he  circumstantially 
explain  to  us  how  Bill  got  into  the  habit  of  beat- 
5 


96  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

ing  Nancy  about  the  head  ?  If  he  cannot,  he  is 
no  bishop,  though  he  had  a  mitre  as  high  as  Salis- 
bury steeple.  He  is  no  bishop, — he  has  sought  to 
be  at  the  helm  instead  of  the  masthead  ;  he  has  no 
sight  of  things.  "  Nay,"  you  say,  "  it  is  not  his 
duty  to  look  after  Bill  in  the  back  street."  What  ! 
the  fat  sheep  that  have  full  fleeces, — you  think  it  is 
only  those  he  should  look  after,  while  (go  back  to 
your  Milton)  "  the  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are 
not  fed,  besides  what  the  grim  wolf,  with  privy 
paw"  (bishops  knowing  nothing  about  it)  "daily 
devours  apace,  and  nothing  said  "  ? 

"  But  that's  not  our  idea  of  a  bishop."  l  Per- 
haps not ;  but  it  was  Saint  Paul's,  and  it  was  Mil- 
ton's. They  may  be  right,  or  we  may  be  ;  but  we 
must  not  think  we  are  reading  either  one  or  the 
other  by  putting  our  meaning  into  their  words. 

23.     I  go  on. 

"  But  swoln  with  wind,  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw." 

This  is  to  meet  the  vulgar  answer  that  "  if  the 
poor  are  not  looked  after  in  their  bodies,  they  are 
in  their  souls;  they  have  spiritual  food." 

And  Milton  says,  "  They  have  no  such  thing  as 
spiritual  food ;  they  are  only  swollen  with  wind." 
At  first  you  may  think  that  is  a  coarse  type,  and 
i  Compare  the  ijth  Letter  in  «» Time  and  Tide." 


OF   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  67 


an  obscure  one.  But  again,  it  is  a  quite  literally 
accurate  one.  Take  up  your  Latin  and  Greek 
dictionaries  and  find  out  the  meaning  of  "  Spirit." 
It  is  only  a  contraction  of  the  Latin  word 
"breath,"  and  an  indistinct  translation  of  the 
Greek  word  for  "wind."  The  same  word  is  used 
in  writing,  "  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth," 
and  in  writing,  "So  is  every  one  that  is  born  of 
the  Spirit;  "  born  of  the  brcatk,  that  is,  for  it 
means  the  breath  of  God  in  soul  and  body.  We 
have  the  true  sense  of  it  in  our  words  "  inspir- 
ation" and  "expire."  Now,  there  are  two  kinds 
of  breath  with  which  the  flock  may  be  filled, — 
God's  breath  and  man's.  The  breath  of  God  is 
health  and  life  and  peace  to  them,  as  the  air  of 
heaven  is  to  the  'locks  on  the  hills ;  but  man's 
breath — the  word  which  he  calls  spiritual — is 
disease  and  contagion  to  them,  as  the  fog  of  the 
fen.  They  rot  inwardly  with  it  ;  they  are  puffed 
up  by  it,  as  a  dead  body  by  the  vapors  of  its  own 
decomposition.  This  is  literally  true  of  all  false 
religious  teaching ;  the  first  and  last  and  fatalest 
sign  of  it  is  that  "puffing  up."  Your  converted 
children,  who  teach  their  parents  ;  your  converted 
convicts,  who  teach  honest  men  ;  your  converted 
dunces,  who,  having  lived  in  cretinous  stupefaction 
half  their  lives,  suddenly  awaking  to  the  fact  of 


68  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

there  being  a  God,  fancy  themselves  therefore  His 
peculiar  people  and  messengers ;  your  sectarians 
of  every  species,  small  and  great,  Catholic  or 
Protestant,  of  High  Church  or  Low,  in  so  far  as 
as  they  think  themselves  exclusively  in  the  right 
and  others  wrong;  and  pre-eminently,  in  every 
sect,  those  who  hold  that  men  can  be  saved  by 
thinking  rightly  instead  of  doing  rightly,  by  work 
instead  of  act,  and  wish  instead  of  work, — these 
are  the  true  fog  children;  clouds,  these,  without 
water ;  bodies,  these,  of  putrescent  vapor  and  skin, 
without  blood  or  flesh,  blown  bagpipes  for  the 
fiends  to  pipe  with,  corrupt  and  corrupting, 
"  Swoln  with  wind,  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw." 
24.  Lastly,  let  us  return  to  the  lines  respecting 
the  power  of  the  keys,  for  now  we  can  understand 
them.  Note  the  difference  between  Milton  and 
Dante,  in  their  interpretation  of  this  power ;  foi 
©nee  the  latter  is  weaker  in  thought.  He  supposes 
both  the  keys  to  be  of  the  gate  of  heaven ;  one  is 
of  gold,  the  ©ther  of  silver.  They  are  given  by 
Saint  Peter  to  the  sentinel  angel;  and  it  is  not  easy 
to  determine  the  meaning  either  of  the  substances 
of  the  three  steps  of  the  gate,  or  of  the  keys.  But 
Milton  makes  one,  of  gold,  the  key  of  heaven,  the 
other,  of  iron,  the  key  of  the  prison  in  which  the 
wicked  teachers  are  t©  be  bound  who  "  have  taken 


OP  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  6t> 

away  the  key  of  knowledge,  yet  entered  not  in 
themselves." 

We  have  seen  that  the  duties  of  bishop  and 
pastor  are  to  see  and  feed,  and  of  all  who  do  so  it 
is  said,  "  He  that  watereth,  shall  be  watered  also 
himself."  But  the  reverse  is  truth  also.  He  that 
watereth  not,  shall  be  withered  himself;  and  he 
that  seeth  not,  shall  himself  be  shut  out  of  sight, 
— shut  into  the  perpetual  prison-house.  And  that 
prison  opens  here  as  well  as  hereafter ;  he  who  is 
to  be  bound  in  heaven  must  first  be  bound  on 
earth.  That  command  to  the  strong  angeis,  of 
which  the  rock-apostle  is  the  image,  "  Take  him, 
and  bind  him  hand  and  foot,  and  cast  him  out," 
issues,  in  its  measure,  a  gainst  the  teacher,  for  every 
help  withheld,  and  for  every  truth  refused,  and  for 
every  falsehood  enforced ;  so  that  he  is  more 
strictly  fettered  the  more  he  fetters,  and  farther  out- 
cast as  he  more  and  more  misleads,  till  at  last  the 
bars  of  the  iron  cage  close  upon  him,  and  as 
•'  the  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain." 

25.  We  have  got  something  out  of  the  lines,  I 
think,  and  much  more  is  yet  to  be  found  in  them ; 
but  we  have  done  enough  by  way  of  example  of 
the  kind  of  word -by- word  examination  of  your 
author  which  is  rightly  called  "reading," — 
watching  every  accent  and  expression,  and  put- 


70  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

ting  ourselves  always  in  the  author's  place,  annihi- 
lating our  own  personality,  and  seeking  to  enter 
into  his,  so  as  to  be  able  assuredly  to  say,  ' '  Thus 
Milton  thought, ' '  not  ' '  Thus  /  thought,  in  mis- 
reading Milton."  And  by  this  process  you  will 
gradually  come  to  attach  less  weight  to  your  own 
"  Thus  I  thought  "  at  other  times.  You  will  be- 
gin to  perceive  that  what  you  thought  was  a  matter 
of  no  serious  importance ;  that  your  thoughts  on 
any  subjects  are  not  perhaps  the  clearest  and  wisest 
that  could  be  arrived  at  thereupon  ;  in  fact,  that 
unless  you  are  a  very  singular  person,  you  cannot 
be  said  to  have  any  "  thoughts"  at  all ;  that  you 
have  no  materials  for  them  in  any  serious  mat- 
ters,1— no  right  to  "think,"  but  only  to  try  to 
learn  more  of  the  facts.  Nay,  most  probably  all 
your  life  (unless,  as  I  said,  you  are  a  singular  per- 
son) you  will  have  no  legitimate  right  to  an 
"opinion  "  on  any  business,  except  that  instantly 
under  your  hand.  What  must  of  necessity  be 
done  you  can  always  find  out,  beyond  question, 
how  to  do.  Have  you  a  house  to  keep  in  order,  a 
commodity  to  sell,  a  field  to  plough,  a  ditch  to 
cleanse?  There  need  be  no  two  opinions  about 
i  Modern  "  education  "  for  the  most  part  signifies  giving 
people  the  faculty  of  thinking  wrong  on  every  conceivable 
subject  of  importance  to  them. 


OF  KINGS'   TBEASURIES.  71 

the  proceedings ;  it  is  at  your  peril  if  you  have  not 
much  more  than  an  "opinion"  on  the  way  to 
manage  such  matters.  And  also,  outside  of  your 
own  business,  there  are  one  or  two  subjects  on 
which  you  are  bound  to  have  but  one  opinion, — 
that  roguery  and  lying  are  objectionable,  and  ure 
instantly  to  be  flogged  out  of  the  way  whenever* 
discovered;  that  covetousness  and  love  of  quar- 
relling are  dangerous  dispositions  even  in  children, 
and  deadly  dispositions  in  men  and  nations ;  that 
jn  the  end,  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth  loves  ac- 
tive, modest,  and  kind  people,  aud  hates  idle, 
proud,  greedy,  and  cruel  ones.  On  these  general 
facts  you  are  bound  to  have  but  one,  and  that  a 
very  strong,  opinion.  For  the  rest,  respecting 
religions,  governments,  sciences,  arts,  you  will 
find  that  on  the  whole  you  can  know  NOTHING, 
judge  nothing ;  that  the  best  you  can  do,  even 
though  you  may  be  a  well-educated  person,  is 
to  be  silent,  and  strive  to  be  wiser  every  day, 
and  to  understand  a  little  more  of  the  thoughts 
of  others,  which  so  soon  as  you  try  to  do  honestly, 
you  will  discover  that  the  thoughts  even  of  the 
wisest  are  very  little  more  than  pertinent  questions. 
To  put  the  difficulty  into  a  clear  shape,  and  ex- 
hibit to  you  the  grounds  for  ///decision,  that  is  all 
they  can  generally  do  for  you ;  and  well  for  them 


72  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

and  for  us  if  indeed  they  are  able  "tomixth. 
music  with  our  thoughts,  and  sadden  us  witU 
heavenly  doubts."  This  writer  from  whom  I  have 
been  reading  to  you  is  not  among  the  first  or 
wisest.  He  sees  shrewdly  as  far  as  he  sees,  and 
therefore  it  is  easy  to  find  out  his  full  meaning ; 
but  with  the  greater  men  you  cannot  fathom  their 
meaning ;  they  do  not  even  wholly  measure  it 
themselves,  it  is  so  wide.  Suppose  I  had  asked 
you,  for  instance,  to  seek  for  Shakespeare's  opinion 
instead  of  Milton's  on  this  matter  of  church 
authority, — or  of  Dante's  ?  Have  any  of  you  at 
this  instant  the  least  idea  what  either  thought 
about  it?  Have  you  ever  balanced  the  scene  with 
the  bishops  in  Richard  III.  against  the  character  of 
Cranmer;  the  description  of  Saint  Francis  and 
Saint  Dominic  against  that  of  him  who  made 
Virgil  wonder  to  gaze  upon  him, — "  disteso,  tanto 
vilmente,  r.ell'  eterno  esilio ;  "  or  of  him  whom 
Dante  stood  beside,  "  come  '1  frate  che  confessa  lo 
perfido  assassin"?1  Shakespeare  and  Alighieri 
knew  men  better  than  most  of  us,  I  presume.  They 
were  both  in  the  midst  of  the  main  struggle  be- 
tween the  temporal  and  spiritual  powers.  They 
had  an  opinion,  we  may  guess.  I3:'.t  \\'ne-:e  is  it? 
Bring  it  into  court !  Put  Shakespeare's  r,(  t)ante's 
i  Inf.  xxiii.  125,  126;  xix.  49,  50 


OF   KINGS     TREASURIES.  73 

creed  into  articles,  and  send  it  up  for  trial  by  the 
ecclesiastical  courts  ! 

26.  You  will  not  be  able,  I  tell  you  again,  for 
many  and  many  a  day  to  come  at  the  real  purposes 
and  teaching  of  these  great  men  ;  but  a  very  little 
honest   study  of  them  will  enable  you  to  perceive 
that   what   you   took    for  your  own  "  judgment " 
was   mere  chance  prejudice  and  drifted,  helpless, 
entangled  weed  of  castaway  thought, — nay,   you 
will   see  that   most  men's  minds  are  indeed  little 
better  than  rough  heath  wilderness,  neglected  and 
stubborn,    partly   barren,    partly   overgrown  with 
pestilent  brakes  and  venomous,  wind-sown  herbage 
of  evil  surmise  ;  that  the   first  thing  you  have  to 
do  for  them  and  yourself  is  eagerly  and  scornfully 
to   set  fire  to  this,  burn  all  the  jungle  into  whole- 
some ash-heaps,  and  then  plough  and  sow.     All 
the  true  literary  work  before   you,  for  life,  must 
begin  with   obedience  to  that   order,  "  Break  up 
your  fallow  ground,  and  sow  not  among  thorns" 

27.  (£)  l     Having  then   faithfully  listened    to 
the  great  teachers,  that   you  may  enter  into  their 
thoughts,   you   have   yet   this  higher  advance  to 
make, — you    have   to  enter  into  their  hearts.     As 
you   go   to  them   first  for  clear  sight,  so  you  must 
stay  with  them  that  you  may  share  at  last  their  just 

i  Compare  §  13  above. 


74  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

and  mighty  passion.  Passion,  or  "  sensation."  I 
am  not  afraid  of  the  word,  still  less  of  the  thing. 
You  have  heard  many  outcries  against  sensation 
lately,  but,  I  can  tell  you,  it  is  not  less  sensation 
we  want,  but  more.  The  ennobling  difference  be- 
tween one  man  and  another — between  one  animal 
and  another — is  precisely  in  this,  that  one  feels 
more  than  another.  If  we  were  sponges,  perhaps 
sensation  might  not  be  easily  got  for  us;  if  we 
were  earth-worms,  liable  at  every  instant  to  be 
cut  in  two  by  the  spade,  perhaps  too  much  sensa- 
tion might  not  be  good  for  us.  But  being  human 
creatures,  //  t's  good  for  us;  nay,  we  are  only 
human  in  so  far  as  we  are  sensitive,  and  our  honor 
is  precisely  in  proportion  to  our  passion. 

28.  You  know  I  said  of  that  great  and  pure 
society  of  the  dead  that  it  would  allow  "no  vain 
or  vulgar  person  to  enter  there."  What  do  you 
think  I  meant  by  a  ' '  vulgar ' '  person  ?  What  do  you 
yourselves  mean  by  "  vulgarity  "  ?  You  will  find 
it  a  fruitful  subject  of  thought ;  but,  briefly,  the 
essence  of  all  vulgarity  lies  in  want  of  sensation. 
Simple  and  innocent  vulgarity  is  merely  an  untrained 
and  undeveloped  bluntness  of  body  and  mind  ; 
but  in  true,  inbred  vulgarity  there  is  a  dreadful 
callousness  which  in  extremity  becomes  capable 
of  every  sort  of  bestial  habit  and  crime,  without 


OF  KINGS'    TREASURIES.  75 

fear,  without  pleasure,  without  horror,  and  with- 
out pity.  It  is  in  the  blunt  hand  and  the  dead 
heart,  in  the  diseased  habit,  in  the  hardened  con- 
science, that  men  become  vulgar ;  they  are  for- 
ever vulgar,  precisely  in  proportion  as  they  are  in- 
capable of  sympathy,  of  quick  understanding,  of 
all  that,  in  deep  insistence  on  the  common  but 
most  accurate  term,  maybe  called  the  "tact  "  or 
"  touch-faculty "  of  body  and  soul;  that  tact 
which  the  Mimosa  has  in  trees,  which  the  pure 
woman  has  above  all  creatures, — fineness  and  full- 
ness of  sensation,  beyond  reason,  the  guide  and 
sanctifier  of  reason  itself.  Reason  can  but  deter- 
mine what  is  true  ;  it  is  the  God-given  passion  of 
humanity  which  alone  can  recognize  what  God  has 
made  good. 

29.  We  come,  then,  to  that  great  concourse 
of  the  dead,  not  merely  to  know  from  them-  what 
is  true,  but  chiefly  to  feel  with  them  what  is  just. 
Now,  to  feel  with  them,  we  must  be  like  them  ; 
and  none  of  us  can  become  that  without  pains. 
As  the  true  knowledge  is  disciplined  and  tested 
knowledge,  not  the  first  thought  that  comes,  so  the 
true  passion  is  disciplined  and  tested  passion,  not 
the  first  passion  that  comes.  The  first  that  come 
ire  the  vain,  the  false,  the  treacherous  ;  if  you 
yield  to  them,  they  will  lead  you  wildly  and  far, 


76  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

in  vain  pursuit,  in  hollow  enthusiasm,  till  you  have 
no  true  purpose  and  no  true  passion  left.  Not 
that  any  feeling  possible  to  humanity  is  in  itself 
wrong,  but  only  wrong  when  undisciplined.  Its  no- 
bility is  in  its  force  and  justice ;  it  is  wrong  when 
it  is  weak,  and  felt  for  paltry  cause.  There  is  a 
mean  wonder,  as  of  a  child  who  sees  a  juggler 
tossing  golden  balls,  and  this  is  base,  if  you  will. 
But  do  you  think  that  the  wonder  is  ignoble,  or 
the  sensation  less,  with  which  every  human  soul 
is  called  to  watch  the  golden  balls  of  heaven  tossed 
through  the  night  by  the  hand  that  made  them  ? 
There  is  a  mean  curiosity,  as  of  a  child  opening  a 
forbidden  door,  or  a  servant  prying  into  her  mas- 
ter's business,  and  a  noble  curiosity,  questioning, 
in  the  front  of  danger,  the  source  of  the  great 
river  beyond  the  sand,  the  place  of  the  great  con- 
tinent beyond  the  sea ;  a  nobler  curiosity  still, 
which  questions  of  the  source  of  the  River  of  Life, 
ind  of  the  space  of  the  Continent  of  Heaven, — 
things  which  "  the  angels  desire  to  look  into." 
So  the  anxiety  is  ignoble  with  which  you  linger 
over  the  course  and  catastrophe  of  an  idle  tale; 
but  do  you  think  the  anxiety  is  less  or  greater  with 
which  you  watch,  or  ought  to  watch,  the  dealings 
of  fate  and  destiny  with  the  life  of  an  agonized 
•tation  ?  Alas !  it  is  the  narrowness,  selfishness, 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  77 


minuteness  of  your  sensation  that  you  have  to  de- 
plore in  England  at  this  day, — sensation  which 
spends  itself  in  bouquets  and  speeches,  in  revel- 
lings  and  junketings,  in  sham  fights  and  gay  pup- 
uet-shows,  while  you  can  look  on  and  see  noble 
nations  murdered,  man  by  man,  without  an  effort 
or  a  tear. 

30.  I  said  "minuteness"  and  "selfishness"  of 
sensation ;  but  it  would  have  been  enough  to  have 
said  "injustice"  or  "unrighteousness"  of  sensa- 
tion. For  as  in  nothing  is  a  gentleman  better  to 
be  discerned  from  a  vulgar  person,  so  in  nothing 
is  a  gentle  nation  (such  nations  have  been)  better 
to  be  discerned  from  a  mob  than  in  this, — that 
their  feelings  are  constant  and  just,  results  of  due 
contemplation,  and  of  equal  thought.  You  can 
talk  a  mob  into  anything;  its  feelings  may  be, — 
usually  are, — on  the  whole,  generous  and  right, 
but  it  has  no  foundation  for  them,  no  hold  ©f 
them.  You  may  tease  or  tickle  it  into  any  at 
your  pleasure  ;  it  thinks  by  infection,  for  the  most 
part,  catching  an  opinion  like  a  cold,  and  there  is 
nothing  so  little  that  it  will  not  roar  itself  wild 
about,  when  the  fit  is  on,  nothing  so  great  but  it 
will  forget  in  an  hour  when  the  fit  is  past.  But  a 
gentleman's,  or  a  gentle  nation's,  passions  are  just, 
measured,  and  continuous.  A  great  nation,  for 


78  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

instance,  does  not  spend  its  entire  national  wits 
for  a  couple  of  months  in  weighing  evidence  of  a 
single  ruffian's  having  done  a  single  murder,  and 
for  a  couple  of  years  see  its  own  children  murder 
each  other  by  their  thousands  or  tens  of  thousands 
a  day,  considering  only  what  the  effect  is  likely  to 
be  on  the  price  of  cotton,  and  caring  nowise  to 
determine  which  side  of  battle  is  in  the  wrong. 
Neither  does  a  great  nation  send  its  poor  little 
boys  to  jail  for  stealing  six  walnuts  ;  and  allow  its 
bankrupts  to  steal  their  hundreds  of  thousands 
with  a  bow,  and  its  bankers,  rich  with  poor  men's 
savings,  to  close  their  doors  "under  circumstances 
over  which  they  have  no  control,"  with  a  "by 
your  leave;"  and  large  landed  estates  to  be 
bought  by  men  who  have  made  their  money  by 
going  with  armed  steamers  up  and  down  the  China 
Seas,  selling  opium  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  and 
altering,  for  the  benefit  of  the  foreign  nation,  the 
common  highwayman's  demand  of  "  your  money 
or  your  life,"  into  that  of  "  your  "money  and your 
life."  Neither  does  a  great  nation  allow  the  lives 
of  its  innocent  poor  to  be  parched  out  of  them  by 
fog  fever,  and  rotted  cut  of  them  by  dunghill 
plague,  for  the  sake  of  sixpence  a  life  extra  per 
week  to  its  landlords,1  and  then  debate,  with  driv- 
1  See  not*  at  end  of  lecture.  I  have  put  it  in  large  type, 


OJEP  KINGS'   TEEASUBIES.  79 

elling  tears  and  diabolical  sympathies,  whether  it 
ought  not  piously  to  save,  and  nursingly  cherish, 
the  lives  of  its  murderers.  Also,  a  great  nation 
having  made  up  its  mind  that  hanging  is  quite  the 
wholesomest  process  for  its  homicides  in  general, 
can  yet  with  mercy  distinguish  between  the  de- 
grees of  guilt  in  homicides,  and  does  not  yelp  like 
a  pack  of  frost-pinched  wolf-cubs  on  the  blood- 
track  of  an  unhappy  crazed  boy,  or  gray-haired 
clodpate  Othello,  "perplexed  i'  the  extreme,"  at 
the  very  moment  that  it  is  sending  a  minister  of 
the  crown  to  make  polite  speeches  to  a  man  who 
is  bayoneting  young  girls  in  their  fathers'  sight, 
and  killing  noble  youths  in  cold  blood  faster  than 
a  country  butcher  kills  lambs  in  spring.  And, 
lastly,  a  great  nation  does  not  mock  Heaven  and 
its  Powers  by  pretending  belief  in  a  revelation 
which  asserts  the  love  of  money  to  be  the  root  of 
all  evil,  and  declaring  at  the  same  time  that  it  is 
actuated,  and  intends  to  be  actuated,  in  all  chief 
national  deeds  and  measures,  by  no  other  love. 

31.  My  friends,  I  do  not  know  why  any  of  us 
should  talk  about  reading.  We  want  some  sharper 
discipline  than  that  of  reading ;  but,  at  all  events, 
be  assured,  we  cannot  read.  No  reading  is  pos- 
.Vcause  the  course  of  matters  since  it  was  written  has  made 
it  perhaps  better  worth  attention. 


60  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

sible  for  a  people  with  its  mind  in  this  state.  No 
sentence  of  any  great  writer  is  intelligible  to  them. 
It  is  simply  and  sternly  impossible  for  the  English 
public  at  this  moment  to  understand  any  thought- 
ful writing, — so  incapable  of  thought  has  it  be- 
come in  its  insanity  of  avarice.  Happily,  our 
disease  is  as  yet  little  worse  than  this  incapacity 
of  thought;  it  is  not  corruption  of  the  inner 
nature :  we  ring  true  still,  when  anything  strikes 
home  to  us ;  and  though  the  idea  that  everything 
should  "pay"  has  infected  our  every  purpose  so 
deeply  that  even  when  we  would  play  the  good 
Samaritan,  we  never  take  out  our  two-pence  and 
sive  them  to  the  host  without  saying,  "When  I 
come  again  thou  shalt  give  me  fourpence,"  there 
is  a  capacity  of  noble  passion  left  in  our  hearts' 
core.  We  show  it  in  our  work,  I*;  our  war,  even 
in  those  unjust  domestic  affections  which  make  us 
furious  at  a  small  private  wrong,  while  we  are  po- 
lite to  a  boundless  public  one.  We  are  still  indus- 
trious to  the  last  hour  of  the  day,  though  we  add 
the  gambler's  fury  to  the  laborer's  patience;  we 
are -still  brave  to  the  death,  though  incapable  of 
discerning  true  cause  for  battle,  and  are  still  true 
in  affection  to  our  own  flesh,  to  the  death,  as  the 
sea-monsters  are,  and  the  rock-eagles.  And  there 
is  hope  for  a  nation  while  this  can  be  still  said  of 


SIR    WALTER    SCOTT 


OF  KINGS'   TEEASUBIES.  81 

•  it.  As  long  as  it  holds  its  life  in  its  hand,  ready 
to  give  it  for  its  honor  (though  a  foolish  honor), 
for  its  love  (though  a  selfish  love),  and  for  its  busi- 
ness (though  a  base  business),  there  is  hope  for  it. 
But  hope  only ;  for  this  instinctive,  reckless  virtue 
cannot  last.  No  nation  can  last  which  has  made 
a  mob  of  itself,  however  generous  at  heart.  It 
must  discipline  its  passions  and  direct  them,  01 
they  will  discipline  /'/,  one  day,  with  scorpion- 
whips.  Above  all,  a  nation  cannot  last  as  a 
money-making  mob;  it  cannot  with  impunity, — it 
cannot  with  existence, — go  on  despising  literature, 
despising  science,  despising  art,  despising  nature, 
despising  compassion,  and  concentrating  its  soul 
on  pence.  Do  you  think  these  are  harsh  or  wild 
words  ?  Have  patience  with  me  but  a  little  longer. 
I  will  prove  their  truth  to  you,  clause  by  clause. 

32.  (a)  I  say  first  we  have  despised  literature. 
What  do  we,  as  a  nation,  care  about  books  ?  How 
much  do  you  think  we  spend  altogether  on  our 
libraries,  public  or  private,  as  compared  with  what 
we  spend  on  our  horses  ?  If  a  man  spends  lavishly 
on  his  library,  you  call  him  mad, — a  bibliomaniac. 
But  you  never  call  any  one  a  horse-maniac,  though 
men  ruin  themselves  every  day  by  their  horses,  and 
you  do  not  hear  of  people  ruining  themselves  by 
their  books.  Or,  to  go  lower  still,  how  much  do 
I 


82  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

you  think  the  contents  of  the  book-shelves  of  the 
United  Kingdom,  public  and  private,  would  fetch, 
as  compared  with  the  contents  of  its  wine-cellars? 
What  position  would  its  expenditure  on  literature 
take,  as  compared  with  its  expenditure  on  luxuri- 
ous eating  ?  We  talk  of  food  for  the  mind  as  of 
food  for  the  body.  Now,  a  good  book  contains 
such  food  inexhaustibly  :  it  is  a  provision  for  life, 
and  for  the  best  part  of  us ;  yet  how  long  most 
people  would  look  at  the  best  book  before  they 
would  give  the  price  of  a  large  turbot  for  it  ! — 
though  there  have  been  men  who  have  pinched 
their  stomachs  and  bared  their  backs  to  buy  a 
book,  whose  libraries  were  cheaper  to  them,  I 
think,  in  the  end,  than  most  men's  dinners  are. 
We  are  few  of  us  put  to  such  trial,  and  more  is  the 
pity ;  for  indeed,  a  precious  thing  is  all  the  more 
precious  to  us  if  it  has  been  won  by  work  or 
economy.  And  if  public  libraries  were  half  as 
costly  as  public  dinners,  or  books  cost  the  tenth 
part  of  what  bracelets  do,  even  foolish  men  and 
women  might  sometimes  suspect  there  was  good  in 
reading,  as  well  as  in  munching  and  sparkling ; 
whereas  the  very  cheapness  of  literature  is  making 
even  wise  people  forget  that  if  a  book  is  worth 
reading,  it  is  worth  buying.  No  book  is  worth 
anything  which  is  not  worth  much  ;  nor  is  it  serv- 


OF  KINGS'   TKEASUKIES.  83 

iceable  until  it  has  been  read  and  re-read,  and 
loved  and  loved  again,  and  marked,  so  that  you 
can  refer  to  the  passages  you  want  in  it,  as  a  sol- 
dier can  seize  the  weapon  he  needs  in  an  armory, 
or  a  house-wife  bring  the  spice  she  needs  from  her 
store.  Bread  of  flour  is  good,  but  there  is  bread, 
sweet  as  honey,  if  we  would  eat  it,  in  a  good  book ; 
and  the  family  must  be  poor  indeed,  which,  once 
in  their  lives,  cannot  for  such  multipliable  barley- 
loaves  pay  their  baker's  bill.  We  call  ourselves  a 
rich  nation,  and  we  are  filthy  and  foolish  enough 
to  thumb  each  other's  books  out  of  circulating 
libraries. 

33.  (£)  I  say  we  have  despised  science. 
"  What !  "  you  exclaim,  "are  we  not  foremost  in 
all  discovery,1  and  is  not  the  whole  world  giddy 
by  reason,  or  unreason,  of  our  inventions?" 
Yes,  but  do  you  suppose  that  is  national  work  ? 
That  work  is  all  done  in  spite  of  the  nation,  by 
private  people's  zeal  and  money.  We  are  glad 
enough,  indeed,  to  make  our  profit  of  science. 
We  snap  up  anything  in  the  way  of  a  scientific 
bone  that  has  meat  on  it,  eagerly  enough ;  but  if 

1  Since  this  was  written,  the  answer  has  become  defin- 
itely— No,  v,-e  have  surrendered  the  field  of  Arctic  discovery 
to  the  Continental  nations,  as  being  ourselves  too  poor  to 
pay  for  ships. 


84  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

the  scientific  man  comes  for  a  bone  or  a  crust  to 
us,  that  is  another  story.  What  have  we  publicly 
done  for  science  ?  We  are  obliged  to  know  what 
o'clock  it  is,  for  the  safety  of  our  ships,  and  there- 
fore we  pay  for  an  observatory  ;  and  we  allow  oar- 
selves,  in  the  person  of  our  Parliament,  to  be 
annually  tormented  into  doing  something,  in  a 
slovenly  way,  for  the  British  Museum,  sullenly 
apprehending  that  to  be  a  place  for  keeping  stuffed 
birds  in,  to  amuse  our  children.  If  anybody  will 
pay  for  their  own  telescope,  and  resolve  another 
nebula,  we  cackle  over  the  discernment  as  if  it 
were  our  own.  If  one  in  ten  thousand  of  our 
hunting  squires  suddenly  perceives  that  the  earth 
was  indeed  made  to  be  something  else  than  a  por- 
tion for  foxes,  and  burrows  in  it  himself  and  tells 
us  where  the  gold  is  and  where  the  coals,  we 
understand  that  there  is  seme  use  in  that,  and 
very  properly  knight  him  ;  but  is  the  accident  of 
kis  having  found  out  how  to  employ  himself  use- 
fully any  credit  to  us  ?  (The  negation  of  such 
discovery  among  his  brother  squires  may  perhaps 
be  some  accredit  to  us,  if  we  would  consider  of 
it.)  But  if  you  doubt  these  generalities,  here  is 
one  fact  for  us  all  to  meditate  upon,  ill  .'.strati  ve  of 
our  love  of  science.  Two  years  ago  there  was  a 
collection  of  the  fossils  of  Solenhofen  to  be  sold 


OJT   KINGS'    TREASURIES.  85 

in  Bavaria, — the  best  in  existence,  containing 
many  specimens  unique  for  perfectness,  and  one, 
unique  as  an  example  of  a  species  (a  whole  king- 
dom of  unknown  living  creatures  being  announced 
by  that  fossil).  This  collection,  of  which  the 
mere  market  worth,  among  private  buyers,  would 
probably  have  been  some  thousand  or  twelve 
hundred  pounds,  was  offered  to  the  English  nation 
for  seven  hundred  ;  but  we  would  not  give  seven 
hundred,  and  the  whole  series  would  have  been  in 
the  Munich  museum  at  this  moment,  if  Professor 
Owen1  had  not,  with  loss  of  his  own  time,  and 
patient  tormenting  of  the  British  public  in  person 
of  its  representatives,  got  leave  to  give  four 
hundred  pounds  at  once,  and  himself  become 
answerable  for  the  other  three,  which  the  said 
public  will  doubtless  pay  him  eventually,  but 
sulkily,  and  caring  nothing  about  the  matter  all 
the  while,  only  always  ready  to  cackle  if  any 
credit  comes  of  it.  Consider,  I  beg  of  you,  arith- 
metically, what  this  fact  means.  Your  annual  ex- 
penditure for  public  purposes  (a  third  of  it  foi 

i  I  state  this  fact  without  Professor  Owen's  permission, 
which  of  course  he  could  not  with  propriety  have  granted,  had 
I  asked  it ;  but  I  consider  it  so  important  that  the  public 
should  be  aware  of  the  fact,  that  I  do  what  seems  to  m? 
tight,  though  rude. 


86  SESAME   AND    LILIES. 


military  apparatus)  is  at  least  fifty  millions.  Now 
seven  hundred  pounds  is  to  fifty  million  pounds, 
roughly,  as  sevenpence  is  to  two  thousand  pounds. 
Suppose,  then,  a  gentleman  of  unknown  income, 
but  whose  wealth  was  to  be  conjectured  from  the 
fact  that  he  spent  two  thousand  a  year  on  his  park 
walls  and  footmen  only,  professes  himself  fond  of 
science;  and  that  one  of  his  servants  comes 
eagerly  to  tell  him  that  an  unique  collection  of 
fossils,  giving  clew  to  a  new  era  of  creation,  is  to 
be  had  for  the  sum  of  sevenpence  sterling;  and 
that  the  gentleman  who  is  fond  of  science,  and 
spends  two  thousand  a  year  on  his  park,  answers, 
after  keeping  his  servant  waiting  several  months, 
"Well,  I'll  give  you  fourpence  for  them,  if  you 
will  be  answerable  for  the  extra  threepence  your- 
self till  next  year  !  " 

34.  (c)  I  say  you  have  despised  art  !  ."  What !  " 
you  again  answer,  "  have  we  not  art  exhibitions, 
Hiiles  long ;  and  do  not  we  pay  thousands  of 
pounds  for  single  pictures  ;  and  have  we  not  art 
schools  and  institutions,  more  than  ever  nation 
had  before  ?  ' '  Yes,  truly,  but  all  that  is  for  the 
sake  of  the  shop.  You  would  fain  sell  canvas  as 
well  as  coals,  and  crockery  as  well  as  iron;  you 
tvould  take  every  other  nation's  bread  out  of  its 


OF   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  87 

mouth  if  you  could.1  Not  being  able  to  do  that, 
your  ideal  of  life  is  to  stand  in  the  thoroughfares 
of  the  world,  like  Ludgate  apprentices,  screaming 
to  every  passer-by,  "What  d'  ye  lack?"  You 
know  nothing  of  your  own  faculties  or  circum- 
stances. You  fancy  that  among  your  damp,  flat, 
fat  fields  of  clay  you  can  have  as  quick  art  fancy 
as  the  Frenchman  among  his  bronzed  vines,  or  the 
Italian  under  his  volcanic  cliffs  ;  that  art  may  be 
learned  as  book-keeping  is,  and  when  learned, 
will  give  you  more  books  to  keep.  You  care  for 
pictures  absolutely  no  more  than  you  do  for  the 
bills  pasted  on  your  dead  walls.  There  is  always 
room  on  the  wall  for  the  bills  to  be  read, — never 
for  the  pictures  to  be  seen.  You  do  not  know  what 
pictures  you  have  (by  repute)  in  the  country,  nor 
whether  they  are  false  or  true,  nor  whether  they 
are  taken  care  of  or  not ;  in  foreign  countries,  you 
calmly  see  the  noblest  existing  pictures  in  the 
world  rotting  in  abandoned  wreck  (in  Venice  you 
saw  the  Austrian  guns  deliberately  pointed  at  the 
palaces  containing  them),  and  if  you  heard  that 
all  the  fine  pictures  in  Europe  were  made  into 

1  That  was  our  real  idea  of  "  Free  Trade," — "  All  the 
trade  to  myself."  You  find  now  that  by  "  competition  " 
other  people  can  manage  to  sell  something  as  well  as  you—- 
and now  we  call  for  "  Protection  "  again.  Wretches ! 


88  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

sand  bags  to-morrow  on  the  Austrian  forts,  it 
would  not  trouble  you  so  much  as  the  chance  of  a 
brace  or  two  of  game  less  in  your  own  bags,  in  a 
day's  shooting.  That  is  your  national  love  of  art. 

35.  (d)  You  have  despised  Nature;  that  is  to 
say,  all  the  deep  and  sacred  sensations  of  natural 
scenery.  The  French  revolutionists  made  stables 
of  the  cathedrals  of  France  ;  you  have  made  race- 
courses of  the  cathedrals  of  the  earth.  Your  one 
conception  of  pleasure  is  to  drive  in  railroad  car- 
riages round  their  aisles,  and  eat  off  their  altars.1 
You  have  put  a  railroad-bridge  over  the  falls  of 
Schaffhausen.  You  have  tunnelled  the  cliffs  of 
Lucerne  by  Tell's  chapel ;  you  have  destroyed  the 
Clarens  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva  ;  there  is  not 
a  quiet  valley  in  England  that  you  have  not  filled 
with  bellowing  fire ;  there  is  no  particle  left  of 
English  land  which  you  have  not  trampled  coal 
ashes  into,2 — nor  any  foreign  city  in  which  the 

1 1  meant  that  the  beautiful  places  of  the  world, — 
Switzerland,  Italy,  South  Germany,  and  so  on, — are,  indeed, 
the  truest  cathedrals — places  to  be  reverent  in,  and  to  wor- 
ship in ;  and  that  we  only  care  to  drive  through  them  ;  and 
to  eat  and  drink  at  their  most  sacred  places. 

*  I  was  singularly  struck,  some  years  ago,  by  finding  all 
the  river  shore  at  Richmond,  in  Yorkshire,  black  in  its 
earth  from  the  mere  drift  of  soot-laden  air  from  pkces 
many  miles  away. 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  89 

spread  of  your  presence  is  not  marked  among  its 
fair  old  streets  and  happy  gardens  by  a  consuming 
white  leprosy  of  new  hotels  and  perfumers'  shops. 
The  Alps  themselves,  which  your  own  poets  used 
to  love  so  reverently,  you  look  upon  as  soaped 
poles  in  a  bear-garden,  which  you  set  yourselves  to 
climb  and  slide  down  again,  with  "  shrieks  of  de- 
light." When  you  are  past  shrieking,  having  no 
human  articulate  voice  to  say  you  are  glad  with, 
you  fill  the  quietude  of  their  valleys  with  gun- 
powder blasts,  and  rush  home  red  with  cutaneous 
eruption  of  conceits,  and  voluble  with  convulsive 
hiccough  of  self-satisfaction.  I  think  nearly  the 
two  sorrowfullest  spectacles  I  have  ever  seen  in 
humanity,  taking  the  deep  inner  significance  cf 
them,  are  the  English  mobs  in  the  valley  of 
Chamouni,  amusing  themselves  with  firing  rusty 
howitzers ;  and  the  Swiss  vintagers  of  Zurich,  ex- 
pressing their  Christian  thanks  for  the  gift  of  the 
vine  by  assembling  in  knots  in  the  "  towers  of  the 
vineyards,"  and  slowly  loading  and  firing  horse- 
pistols  from  morning  till  evening.  It  is  pitiful  to 
have  dim  conceptions  of  duty ;  more  pitiful,  it  seems 
to  me,  to  have  conceptions  like  these  of  mirth. 

36.  Lastly,  you  despise  compassion.  There  is 
no  need  of  words  of  mine  for  proof  of  this.  I 
will  merely  print  one  of  the  newspaper  paragraphs 


90  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 


which  I  am  in  the  habit  of  cutting  out  and 
throwing  into  my  store-drawer;  here  is  one  from  a 
"Daily  Telegraph  "  of  an  early  date  this  year 
(1867)  ;  (date  which,  though  by  me  carelessly  left 
unmarked,  is  easily  discoverable ;  for  on  the  back 
of  the  slip  there  is  the  announcement  that  "yes- 
terday the  seventh  of  the  special  services  of  this 
year  was  performed  by  the  Bishop  of  Ripon  in  St. 
Paul's");  it  relates  only  one  of  such  facts  as 
happen  now  daily  ;  this  by  chance  having  taken 
a  form  in  which  it  came  before  the  coroner.  I 
vill  print  the  paragraph  in  red.  Be  sure,  the  facts 
themselves  are  written  in  that  color,  in  a  book 
\vhich  we  shall  all  of  us,  literate  or  illiterate,  have 
fo  read  our  page  of,  some  day.1 

An  inquiry  was  held  on  Friday  by  Mr.  Richards, 
deputy  coroner,  at  the  White  Horse  tavern,  Christ 
Church,  Spitalfields,  respecting  the  death  of 
Michael  Collins,  aged  58  years.  Mary  Collins,  a 
miserable-looking  woman,  said  that  she  lived  with 
the  deceased  and  his  son  in  a  room  at  2,  Cobb'? 
Court,  Christ  Church.  Deceased  was  a  "  trans- 
lator "  of  boots.  Witness  went  out  and  bought 
old  boots ;  deceased  and  his  son  made  them  into 
good  ones,  and  then  witness  sold  them  for  what 
she  could  get  at  the  shops,  which  was  very  little 
1  In  the  English  edition  the  following  matter  to  $  37  wa? 
printed  in  red  ink. 


OF  KLNGS'   TREASURIES.  91 

Indeed.  Deceased  and  his  son  used  to  work  night 
and  day  to  try  and  get  a  little  bread  and  tea,  and 
pay  for  the  room  (zs.  a  week),  so  as  to  keep  the 
home  together.  On  Friday- night  week,  deceased 
got  up  from  his  bench  and  began  to  shiver.  He 
threw  down  the  boots,  saying,  ' '  Somebody  else 
must  finish  them  when  I  am  gone,  for  I  can  do  no 
more."  There  was  no  fire,  and  he  said,  "I  would 
be  better  if  I  was  warm."  Witness  therefore  took 
two  pairs  of  ' '  translated ' '  boots1  to  sell  at  the 
shop ;  but  she  could  only  get  14^.  for  the  two  pairs, 
for  the  people  at  the  shop  said,  "  We  must  have 
our  profit."  Witness  got  i4.1bs.  of  coal,  and  a 
little  tea  and  bread.  Her  son  sat  up  the  whole 
night  to  make  the  "translations,"  to  get  money, 
but  deceased  died  on  Saturday  morning.  The 
family  never  had  enough  to  eat. — Coroner  :  "It 
seems  to  me  deplorable  that  you  did  not  go  into 
the  workhouse."  Witness:  "We  wanted  the 
comforts  of  our  little  home."  A  juror  asked  what 
the  comforts  were,  for  he  only  saw  a  little  straw  in 
the  corner  of  the  room,  the  windows  of  which 
were  broken.  The  witness  began  to  cry,  and  said 

i  One  of  the  things  which  we  must  very  resolutely  en- 
force, for  the  good  of  all  classes,  in  our  future  arrangements, 
must  be  that  they  wear  no  "  translated  "  article  of  dress. 
See  the  preface. 


92  SESAME   AND    LILIES. 

that  they  had  a  quilt  and  other  little  things.  The 
deceased  said  he  never  would  go  into  the  work- 
house. In  summer,  when  the  season  was  good, 
t'ley  sometimes  made  as  much  as  los.  profit  in  the 
week.  They  then  always  saved  toward  the  next 
week,  which  was  generally  a  bad  one.  In  winter 
they  made  not  half  so  much.  For  three  years  they 
had  been  getting  from  bad  to  worse. — Cornelius 
Collins  said  that  he  had  assisted  his  father  since 
1847.  They  used  to  work  so  far  into  the  night 
that  both  nearly  lost  their  eyesight.  Witness  now 
had  a  film  over  his  eyes.  Five  years  ago  deceased 
applied  to  the  parish  for  aid.  The  relieving  offi- 
cer gave  him  a  4lb.  loaf,  and  told  him  if  he  came 
again  he  should  get  the  "stones."1  That  dis- 

1  This  abbreviation  of  the  penalty  of  useless  labor  is 
Curiously  coincident  in  verbal  form  with  a  certain  passage 
which  some  of  us  may  remember.  It  may  perhaps  be 
well  to  preserve  beside  this  paragraph  another  cutting  out 
of  my  store-drawer,  from  the  "  Morning  Post,"  of  about  a 
parallel  date,  Friday,  March  10,  1865  :  "  The  satons  of 

Mme.  C ,  who  did    the  honors    with   clever   imitative 

grace  and  elegance,  were  crowded  with  princes,  dukes, 
marquises,  and  counts — in  fact,  with  the  same  male  com- 
pany as  one  meets  at  the  parties  of  the  Princess  Metter- 
nich  and  Madame  Drouyn  de  Lhuys.  Some  English  peers 
and  members  of  Parliament  were  present,  and  appeared 
to  enjoy  the  animated  and  dazzling  improper  scene.  On 


OF   KINGS'   TREASUKIEb.  93 

gusted  deceased,  and  he  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them  since.  They  got  worse  and  worse  umil 
last  Friday  week,  when  they  had  not  even  a  half- 
penny to  buy  a  candle.  Deceased  then  lay  down 
on  the  straw,  and  said  he  could  not  live  till  morn» 
ing. — A  juror:  "You  are  dying  of  starvation 
yourself,  and  you  ought  to  go  into  the  house  un-til 
the  summer." — Witness:  "If  we  went  in,  we 
should  die.  When  we  came  out  in  the  summer,  we 
should  be  like  people  dropped  from  the  sky.  No 

the  secend  fl®or  the  supper  tables  were  leaded  with  every 
delicasy  of  the  seasan.  That  your  readers  may  form  same 
idea  of  the  dainty  fare  of  the  Parisian  demi-monde,  I  copy 
the  menu  of  the  supper,  which  was  s«rved  to  all  the  guests 
(about  200)  seated  at  four  o'clock.  Choice  Yquem,  Johan- 
nisberg,  Laffitte,  Tokay,  and  champagne  of  the  finest  vint- 
ages were  served  most  lavishly  throughout  the  morning. 
After  supper  dancing  was  resumed  with  increased  anima- 
tio»,  and  the  ball  terminated  with  a  chaine  diabolique 
and  a  cancan  (Fenfer  at  seven  in  the  morning.  (Moraing 
service — '  Ere  the  fresh  lawns  appeared,  under  the  open- 
ing eyelids  of  the  Morn.')  Here  is  the  menu : — '  Con- 
somme de  volaille  a  la  Bagration :  16  hors-d'oeuvres  varies. 
Boackees  a  la  Talleyrand.  Saumens  freids,  sauce  Ravigote. 
Filets  de  bceuf  en  Bellevue,  timbales  milanaises,  chaudfroid 
de  gibier.  Dindes  truffees.  Pates  de  foies  gras,  buissons 
d'ecrevisses,  salades  venetiennes,  gelees  blanches  aux  fruits, 
gateaux  mancini,  parisiens  et  parisiennes.  Fremages  glaces. 
Ananas.  Dessert.'" 


94  SESAME   AND    L1LJ.E3. 

one  would  know  us,  and  we  would  not  have  even 
a  room.  I  could  work  now  if  I  had  food,  for  my 
sight  would  get  better."  Dr.  G.  P.  Walker  said 
deceased  died  from  syncope,  from  exhaustion  from 
want  of  food.  The  deceased  had  had  no  ber< 
clothes.  For  four  months  he  had  had  nothing  bi.; 
bread  to  eat.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  fat  li- 
the body.  There  was  no  disease,  but  if  there  had 
been  medical  attendance,  he  might  have  survived 
the  syncope,  or  fainting.  The  coroner  having  re- 
marked upon  the  painful  nature  of  the  case,  the 
jury  returned  the  following  verdict,  "That  de- 
ceased died  from  exhaustion  from  want  of  food  and 
the  common  necessaries  of  life;  also  through 
want  of  medical  aid." 

37.  "Why  would  witness  not  go  into  the  work- 
house?" you  ask.  Well,  the  poor  seem  to  have 
a  prejudice  against  the  workhouse  which  the  rich 
have  not ;  for  of  course  every  one  who  takes  a 
pension  from  Government  goes  into  the  workhouse 
on  a  grand  scale  ;  1  only  the  workhouses  for  the 
rich  do  not  involve  the  idea  of  work,  and  should 
be  called  play-houses.  But  the  poor  like  to  die 

i  Please  observe  this  statement,  and  think  of  it,  aH^ 
consider  how  it  happens  that  a  poor  old  woman  will  bg 
ashamed  to  take  a  shilling  a  week  from  the  country,  but  no 
one  is  ashamed  to  take  a  pension  of  a  thousand  a  year. 


OF   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  95 

independently,  it  appears;  perhaps  if  we  made 
the  play-houses  for  them  pretty  and  pleasant 
enough,  or  gave  them  their  pensions  at  home,  and 
allowed  them  a  little  introductory  speculation  with 
the  public  money,  their  minds  might  be  reconciled 
to  the  conditions.  Meantime,  here  are  the  facts : 
we  make  our  relief  either  so  insulting  to  them, 
or  so  painful,  that  they  rather  die  than  take  it  at 
our  hands ;  or,  for  third  alternative,  we  leave 
them  so  untaught  and  foolish  that  they  starve  like 
brute  creatures,  wild  and  dumb,  not  knowing  what 
to  do,  or  what  to  ask.  I  say,  you  despise  compas- 
sion ;  if  you  did  not,  such  a  newspaper  paragraph 
would  be  as  impossible  in  a  Christian  country  as  a 
deliberate  assassination  permitted  in  its  public 
streets.1  "Christian"  did  I  say?  Alas,  if  we 

1  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  such  a  paper  as  the  "  Pal) 
Mall  Gazette  "  established ;  for  the  power  of  the  press  in 
the  hands  of  highly-educated  men,  in  independent  position, 
and  of  honest  purpose,  may,  indeed,  become  all  that  it  has 
been  hitherto  vainly  vaunted  to  be.  Its  editor  will  there- 
fore, I  doubt  not,  pardon  me,  in  that,  by  very  reason  of  my 
respect  for  the  journal,  I  do  not  let  pass  unnoticed  an  article 
in  its  third  number,  page  5,  which  was  wrong  in  every  word 
of  it,  with  the  intense  wrongness  which  only  an  honest  man 
can  achieve  who  has  taken  a  false  turn  of  thought  in  the 
outset,  and  is  following  it,  regardless  of  consequences.  It 
contained  at  the  end  this  notable  passage  : — 


96  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

were   but  wholesomely   w«-Christian,  it  would  be 
impossible  ;  it   is   our  imaginary  Christianity  that 

"  The  bread  of  affliction,  and  the  water  of  affliction — aye, 
and  the  bedstead  and  blankets  ->f  affliction,  are  the  very  ut- 
most that  the  law  ought  to  give  to  outcasts  merely  as  out- 
casts" I  merely  put  beside  this  expression  of  the  gentle- 
manly mind  of  England  in  1865,  a  part  of  the  message 
which  Isaiah  was  ordered  to  "lift  up  his  voice  like  a 
trumpet "  in  declaring  to  the  gentlemen  of  his  day :  "  Ye 
fast  for  strife,  and  to  smite  with  the  fist  of  wickedness.  Is 
not  this  the  fast  that  I  have  chosen,  to  deal  thy  bread  to  the 
hungry,  and  that  thou  bring  the  poor  that  are  cast  out 
[margin,  "  afflicted  "J  to  thy  house  ?  "  The  falsehood  on 
which  the  writer  had  mentally  founded  himself,  as  pie- 
viously  stated  by  him,  was  this  :  "  To  confound  the  func- 
tions of  the  dispensers  of  the  poor-rates  with  those  of  the 
dispensers  of  a  charitable  institution  is  a  great  and  perni- 
cious error."  This  sentence  is  so  accurately  and  exqui- 
sitely wrong,  that  its  substance  must  be  thus  revised  in  our 
minds  before  we  can  deal  with  any  existing  problem  of  na- 
tional distress.  "  To  understand  that  the  dispensers  of  the 
poor-rates  are  the  almoners  of  the  nation,  and  should  dis- 
tribute its  alms  with  a  gentleness  and  freedom  of  hand  as 
much  greater  and  franker  than  that  possible  to  individual 
charity  85  the  collective  national  wisdom  and  power  may  be 
supposed  greater  than  those  of  any  single  person,  is  the 
foundation  of  all  law  respecting  pauperism."  (Since  this 
was  written  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  has  become  a  mere 
party-paper  like  the  rest ;  but  it  writes  well,  and  does  more 
good  than  mischief  on  the  whole.) 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  97 

helps  us  to  commit  these  crimes,  for  we  revel  and 
luxuriate  in  our  faith,  for  the  lewd  sensation  of  it ; 
dressing  //  up,  like  everything  else,  in  fiction. 
The  dramatic  Christianity  of  the  organ  and  aisle, 
of  dawn-service  and  twilight-revival, — the  Chris- 
tianity which  we  do  not  fear  to  mix  the  mocker 
of,  pictorially,  with  our  play  about  the  devil,  in 
our  Satanellas,  Roberts,  Fausts ;  chanting  hymns 
through  tracer ied  windows  for  background  effect, 
and  artistically  modulating  the  "Dio"  through 
variation  on  variation  of  mimicked  prayer,  while 
we  distribute  tracts  next  day,  for  the  benefit  of 
uncultivated  swearers,  upon  what  we  suppose  to  be 
the  signification  of  the  Third  Commandment. 
This  gas-lighted  and  gas-inspired  Christianity  we 
are  triumphant  in,  and  draw  back  the  hem  of  our 
robes  from  the  touch  of  the  heretics  who  dispute 
it.  But  to  do  a  piece  of  common  Christian 
righteousness  in  plain  English  word  or  deed,  to 
make  Christian  law  any  rule  of  life  and  found  one 
national  act  or  hope  thereon, — we  know  too  well 
what  our  faith  comes  to  for  that  !  You  might 
sooner  get  lightning  out  of  incense  smoke  than 
true  action  or  passion  out  of  your  modern  English 
religion.  You  had  better  get  rid  of  the  smoke 
and  the  organ  pipes,  both.  Leave  them  and 
the  Gothic  windows  and  the  painted  glass  to 
7  , 


SESAME   AND   LILIES. 


the  property  man ;  give  up  your  carburetted  hy- 
drogen ghost  in  one  healthy  expiration,  and  look 
after  Lazarus  at  the  doorstep.  For  there  is  a  true 
church  wherever  one  hand  meets  another  helpfully, 
and  that  is  the  only  holy  or  Mother  Church  which 
ever  was,  or  ever  shall  be. 

38.  All  these  pleasures  then,  and  all  these  vir- 
tues, I  repeat,  you  nationally  despise.  You  have, 
indeed,  men  among  you  who  do  not ;  by  whose 
work,  by  whose  strength,  by  whose  life,  by  whose 
death,  you  live,  and  never  thank  them.  Your 
wealth,  your  amusement,  your  pride,  would  all  be 
alike  impossible,  but  for  those  whom  you  scorn  or 
forget.  The  policeman,  who  is  walking  up  and 
down  the  back  lane  all  night  to  watch  the  guilt 
you  have  created  there,  and  may  have  his  brains 
beaten  out,  and  be  maimed  for  life,  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  never  be  thanked ;  the  sailor  wrestling 
with  the  sea's  rage  ;  the  quiet  student  poring  over 
his  book  or  his  phial ;  the  common  worker,  with- 
out praise,  and  nearly  without  bread,  fulfilling  his 
task  as  your  horses  drag  your  carts,  hopeless,  and 
spurned  of  all :  these  are  the  men  by  whom  Eng- 
land lives ;  but  they  are  not  the  nation  ;  they  are 
only  the  body  and  nervous  force  of  it,  acting  still 
from  old  habit  in  a  convulsive  perseverance,  while 
the  mind  is  gone.  Our  national  wish  and  purpose 


OF   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  99 

are  only  to  be  amused  ;  our  national  religion  is 
the  performance  of  church  ceremonies,  and  preach- 
;ng  of  soporific  truths  (or  untruths;  to  keep  the 
mob  quietly  at  work,  while  we  amuse  ourselves ; 
and  the  necessity  for  this  amusement  is  fastening 
on  us,  as  a  feverous  disease  of  parched  throat  and 
vandering  eyes — senseless,  dissolute,  merciless, 
'iow  literally  that  word  <//V-ease,  the  negation  and 
feasibility  of  ease,  expresses  the  entire  moral  state 
if  our  English  industry  and  its  amusements. 

39.  When  men  are  rightly  occupied,  their 
Amusement  grows  out  of  their  work,  as  the  color- 
petals  out  of  a  fruitful  flower;  when  they  are 
faithfully  helpful  and  compassionate,  all  their 
emotions  become  steady,  deep,  perpetual,  and 
vivifying  to  the  soul  as  the  natural  pulse  to  the 
body.  But  now,  having  no  true  business,  we  pour 
our  whole  masculine  energy  into  the  false  business 
of  money-making ;  and  having  no  true  emotion, 
we  must  have  false  emotions  dressed  up  for  us  to 
play  with,  not  innocently,  as  children  with  dolls, 
but  guiltily  and  darkly,  as  the  idolatrous  Jews  with 
their  pictures  on  cavern  walls,  which  men  had  t « 
dig  to  detect.  The  justice  we  do  not  execute,  we 
mimic  in  the  novel  and  on  the  stage ;  for  the 
beauty  we  destroy  in  Nature,  we  substitute  the 
metamorphosis  of  the  pantomime,  and  (the  human 


100  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

nature  of  us  imperatively  requiring  awe  and  sorrow 
of  some  kind)  for  the  noble  grief  we  should  have 
borne  with  our  fellows,  and  the  pure  tears  we 
should  have  wept  with  them,  we  gloat  over  the 
oathos  of  the  police  court,  ar.d  gather  the  night- 
..iew  of  the  grave. 

40.  It  is  difficult  to  estimate  the  true  signifi- 
cance of  these  things;  the  facts  are  frightful 
enough.  The  measure  of  national  fault  involved 
in  them  is,  perhaps,  not  as  great  as  it  would  at 
first  seem.  We  permit  cr  cause  thousands  of 
deaths  daily,  but  we  mean  no  harm;  we  set  fire  to 
houses  and  ravage  peasants'  fields,  yet  we  should 
be  sorry  to  find  we  had  injured  anyb»dy.  We  are 
still  kind  at  heart;  still  capable  of  virtue,  but  only 
as  children  are.  Chalmers,  at  the  end  of  his  long 
life,  having  had  much  power  with  the  public,  be- 
ing plagued  in  some  serious  matter  by  a  refereiacr 
to  "public  opinion,"  uttered  the  impatient  excla 
raation,  "The  public  is  just  a  great  baby!' 
And  the  reason  that  I  have  allowed  all  these  gravei 
=.;ibjects  of  thought  to  mix  themselves  up  with  an 
iiiquiry  into  methods  of  reading  is,  that  the  more 
I  see  of  our  national  faults  or  miseries,  the  more 
they  resolve  themselves  into  conditions  of  childish 
illiterateness  and  want  of  education  in  the  most 
ordinary  habits  of  thought.  It  is,  I  repeat,  not 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  101 


vice,  not  selfishness,  not  dulness  of  brain,  which 
we  have  to  lament;  but  an  unreachable  school- 
boy's recklessness,  only  differing  from  the  true 
schoolboy's  in  its  incapacity  of  being  helped,  be- 
cause it  acknowledges  no  master. 

41.  There  is  a  curious  type  of  us  given  in  one 
of  the  lovely,  neglected  works  of  the  last  of  our 
great  painters.  It  is  a  drawing  of  Kirkby  Lonsdale 
churchyard,  and  of  its  brook  and  valley  and  hills 
and  folded  morning  sky  beyond.  And  unmind- 
ful alike  of  these,  and  of  the  dead  who  have  left 
these  for  other  valleys  and  for  other  skies,  a  group 
of  schoolboys  have  piled  their  little  books  upon  a 
grave,  to  strike  them  off  with  stones.  So,  also,  we 
play  with  the  words  of  the  dead  that  would  teach 
us,  and  strike  them  far  from  us  with  our  bitter, 
reckless  will;  little  thinking  that  those  leaves 
which  the  wind  scatters  had  been  piled,  not  only 
upon  a  gravestone,  but  upon  the  seal  of  an  en- 
chanted vault — nay,  the  gate  of  a  great  city  of 
sleeping  kings,  who  would  awake  for  us,  and  walk 
with  us,  if  we  knew  but  how  to  call  them  by  their 
names.  How  often,  even  if  we  lift  the  marble  en- 
trance gate,  do  we  but  wander  among  those  old 
kings  in  their  repose,  and  finger  the  robes  they  lie 
in,  and  stir  the  crowns  on  their  foreheads ;  and 
still  ihey  are  silent  to  us,  and  seem  but  a  dusty 


102  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

imagery,  because  we  know  not  the  incantation  of 
the  heart  that  would  wake  them, — which,  if  they 
once  heard,  they  would  start  up  to  meet  us  in  their 
power  of  long  ago,  narrowly  to  look  upon  us,  and 
consider  us ;  and  as  the  fallen  kings  of  Hades 
meet  the  newly  fallen,  saying,  "  Art  thou  also  be- 
come weak  as  we, — art  thou  also  become  one  of 
us?  "  so  would  these  kings,  with  their  undimmed, 
unshaken  diadems,  meet  us,  saying,  "Art  thou 
ilso  become  pure  and  mighty  of  heart  as  we, — art 
ihou  also  become  one  of  us  ?  " 

42.  Mighty  of  heart,  mighty  of  mind — magnan- 
imous— to  be  this,  is,  indeed,  to  be  great  in  life ; 
to  become  this  increasingly,  is,  indeed,  to  "ad- 
vance in  life," — in  life  itself,  not  in  the  trappings 
of  it.  My  friends,  do  you  remember  that  old 
Scythian  custom,  when  the  head  of  a  house  died  ? 
How  he  was  dressed  in  his  finest  dress,  and  set  in 
his  chariot,  and  carried  about  to  his  friends' 
houses ;  and  each  of  them  placed  him  at  his 
table's  head,  and  all  feasted  in  his  presence?  Sup- 
pose it  were  offered  to  you  in  plain  words,  as  it  is 
offered  to  you  in  dire  facts,  that  you  should  gain 
this  Scythian  honor  gradually,  while  you  yet 
thought  yourself  alive.  Suppose  the  offer  were 
riis  :  You  shall  die  slowly  ;  your  blood  shall  daily 
;.;row  cold,  your  flesh  petrify,  your  heart  beat  at 


OP  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  103 

kst  only  as  a  rusted  group  of  iron  valves.  Your 
life  shall  fade  from  you,  and  sink  through  the 
earth  into  the  ice  of  Caina;  but  day  by  day  your 
body  shall  be  dressed  more  gayly,  and  set  in 
higher  chariots,  and  have  more  orders  on  its 
breast — crowns  on  its  head,  if  you  will.  Men 
shall  bow  before  it,  stare  and  shout  round  it, 
crowd  after  it  up  and  down  the  streets;  build 
palaces  for  it ;  feast  with  it  at  their  tables'  heads 
all  the  night  long.  Your  soul  shall  stay  enough 
within  it  to  know  what  they  do,  and  feel  the 
weight  of  the  golden  dress  on  its  shoulders,  and 
the  furroAv  of  the  crown-edge  on  the  skull ; — no 
more.  Would  you  take  the  offer  verbally  made  by 
the  death-angel  ?  Would  the  meanest  among  us 
take  it,  think  you  ?  Yet  practically  and  verily  we 
grasp  at  it,  every  one  of  us,  in  a  measure  ;  many  of 
us  grasp  at  it  in  its  fulness  of  horror.  Every  man 
accepts  it  who  desires  to  advance  in  life  without 
knowing  what  life  is  ;  who  means  only  that  he  is 
to  get  more  horses  and  more  footmen  and  more 
fortune  and  more  public  honor,  and — not  more 
personal  soul.  He  only  is  advancing  in  life  whose 
heart  is  getting  softer,  whose  blood  warmer,  whose 
brain  quicker,  whose  spirit  is  entering  into  living1 
peace.  And  the  men  who  have  this  life  in  them 
1  ri  8e  ypovTjfj.a  TOO 


104  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

are  the  true  lords  or  kings  of  the  earth — they,  and 
they  only.  All  other  kingships,  so  far  as  they  are 
true,  are  only  the  practical  issue  and  expression  of 
theirs ;  if  less  than  this,  they  are  either  dramatic 
royalties, — costly  shows,  set  off,  indeed,  with  real 
jewels  instead  of  tinsel,  but  still  only  the  toys  of 
nations, — or  else  they  are  no  royalties  at  all,  but 
tyrannies,  or  the  mere  active  and  practical  issue  of 
national  folly ;  for  which  reason  I  have  said  of 
them  elsewhere,  ' '  Visible  governments  are  the 
toys  of  some  nations,  the  diseases  of  others,  the 
harness  of  some,  the  burdens  of  more." 

43.  But  I  have  no  words  for  the  wonder  with 
which  I  hear  kinghood  still  spoken  of,  even  among 
thoughtful  men,  as  if  governed  nations  were  a  per- 
sonal property,  and  might  be  bought  and  sold,  or 
otherwise  acquired,  as  sheep,  of  whose  flesh  their 
king  was  to  feed,  and  whose  fleece  he  was  to 
gather ;  as  if  Achilles'  indignant  epithet  of  base 
kings,  "  people -eat  ing,"  were  the  constant  and  pro- 
per title  of  all  monarchs ;  and  enlargement  of  a 
king's  dominion  meant  the  same  thing  as  the  in- 
crease  of  a  private  man's  estate  !  Kings  who  think 
so,  however  powerful,  can  no  more  be  the  true  kings 
of  the  nation  than  gadflies  are  the  kings  of  a  horse ; 
they  suck  it,  and  may  drive  it  wild,  but  do  not 
guide  it.  They  and  their  courts  and  their  armies 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  105 


are,  if  one  could  see  clearly,  only  a  large  species 
of  marsh  mosquito,  with  bayonet  proboscis  and 
melodious,  bandmastered  trumpeting  in  the  summer 
air;  the  twilight  being,  perhaps,  sometimes  fairer, 
but  hardly  more  wholesome,  for  its  glittering  mists 
of  midge  companies.  The  true  kings,  meanwhile, 
rule  quietly,  if  at  all,  and  hate  ruling ;  too  many 
of  them  make  il  gran  rifiuto  ;  and  if  they  do  not, 
the  mob,  as  soon  as  they  are  likely  to  become  use- 
ful to  it,  is  pretty  sure  to  make  its  gran  rifiuto  of 
them. 

44.  Yet  the  visible  king  may  also  be  a  true  one 
some  day,  if  ever  day  comes  when  he  will  esti- 
mate his  dominion  by  the  force  of  it, — not  the 
geographical  boundaries.  It  matters  very  little 
whether  Trent  cuts  you  a  cantel  out  here,  or  Rhine 
rounds  you  a  castle  less  there ;  but  it  does  matter 
to  you,  king  of  men,  whether  you  can  verily  say 
to  this  man  "  Go,"  and  he  goeth,  and  to  another, 
"  Come,"  and  he  cometh.  Whether  you  can  turn 
your  people  as  you  can  Trent ;  and  where  it  is  that 
you  bid  them  come,  and  where  go.  It  matters 
to  you,  king  of  men,  whether  your  people  hate 
you,  and  die  by  you,  or  love  you,  and  live  by  you. 
You  may  measure  your  dominion  by  multitudes, 
better  than  by  miles ;  and  count  degrees  of  love-lat- 


106  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

itude,  not  from,  but  to,  a  wonderfully  warm  and 
infinite  equator. 

45.  Measure! — nay,  you  cannot  measure. 
Who  shall  measure  the  difference  between  ihe  power 
of  those  who  "  do  and  teach,"  and  who  are  greatest 
in  the  kingdoms  of  earth,  as  of  heaven,  and  the 
power  of  those  who  undo  and  consume,  whose  pow- 
er, at  the  fullest,  is  only  the  power  of  the  moth  and 
the  rust?  Strange!  to  think  how  the  Moth- kings 
lay  up  treasures  for  the  moth ;  and  the  Rust-kings, 
who  are  to  their  people's  strength  as  rust  to  armor, 
lay  up  treasures  for  the  rust;  and  the  Robber-kings, 
treasures  for  the  robber ;  but  how  few  kings  have 
ever  laid  up  treasures  that  needed  no  guarding — 
treasures  of  which  the  more  thieves  there  were  the 
better  !  Broidered  robe,  only  to  be  rent ;  helm  and 
sword,  only  to  be  dimmed  ;  jewel  and  gold,  only 
to  be  scattered  ; — there  have  been  three  kinds  of 
kings  who  have  gathered  these.  Suppose  there 
ever  should  arise  a  fourth  order  of  kings  who  had 
read  in  some  obscure  writing  of  long  ago  that 
there  was  a  fourth  kind  of  treasure  which  the 
jewel  and  gold  could  not  equal,  neither  should 
it  be  valued  with  pure  gold.  A  web  made  fair  in 
the  weaving  by  Athena's  shuttle ;  an  armor  forged 
in  divine  fire  by  Vulcanian  force ;  a  gold  to  be 
mined  in  the  very  sun's  red  heart,  where  he  sets  ovel 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  107 

the  Delphian  cliffs, — deep-pictured  tissue,  impen- 
etrable armor,  potable  gold,  the  three  great 
Angels  of  Conduct,  Toil,  and  Thought,  still  call- 
ing to  us,  and  waiting  at  the  post  of  our  doors,  to 
lead  us  with  their  winged  power,  and  guide  us  with 
their  unerring  eyes,  by  the  path  which  no  fowl 
knoweth,  and  which  the  vulture's  eye  has  not 
seen  !  Suppose  kings  should  ever  arise  who  heard 
and  believed  this  word,  and  at  last  gathered  and 
brought  forth  treasures  of  Wisdom  for  their  peo- 
pie. 

46.  Think  what  an  amazing  business  that  would 
be !  How  inconceivable  in  the  state  of  our  pres- 
ent   national  wisdom  !  That  we  should  bring  up 
our  peasants  to  a  book  exercise  instead  of  a  bayonet 
exercise  !  — organize,  drill,  maintain  with  pay  and 
good  generalship,  armies  of  thinkers,  instead  of  ar- 
mies  of   stabbers  ! — find   national  amusement  in 
reading-rooms     as    well   as     rifle-grounds ;    give 
prizes   for   a  fair   shot  at  a  fact,  as  well  as  for  a 
leaden  splash  on  a  target.     What  an  absurd  idea 
it  seems,  put  fairly  in  words,  that  tne  wealth  of 
the  capitalists  of  civilized  nations  should  ever  come 
to  support  literature  instead  of  war  ! 

47.  Have  yet  patience  with  me  while  I  read  you 
a  single  sentence  out  of  the  only  book,  properly  to 
be  called  a  book,  that  I  have  yet  written  myself, 


108  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

the  one  that  will  stand  (if  anything  stand)  surest 
and  longest  of  all  work  of  mine  : — 

"  It  is  one  very  awful  form  of  the  operation  of  wealth 
in  Europe  that  it  is  entirely  capitalists'  wealth  which 
supports  unjust  wars.  Just  wars  do  not  need  so  much 
money  to  support  them ;  for  most  of  the  men  who  wage  such, 
wage  them  gratis;  but  for  an  unjust  war,  men's  bodies  and 
souls  have  both  to  be  bought,  and  the  best  tools  of  war  for  them 
besides,  which  makes  such  war  costly  to  the  maximum ;  not 
to  speak  of  the  cost  of  base  fear  and  angry  suspicion  between 
nations  which  have  not  grace  nor  honesty  enough  in  all 
their  multitudes  to  buy  an  hour's  peace  of  mind  with ;  as, 
at  present,  France  and  England,  purchasing  of  each  other 
ten  millions  sterling  worth  of  consternation,  annually(a  re- 
markably light  crop,  half  thorns  and  half  aspen  leaves, 
sown,  reaped,  and  granaried  by  the  '  science'  of  the  modern 
political  economist,  teaching  covetousness  instead  of  truth). 
And  all  unjust  war  being  supportable,  if  not  by  pillage  of 
the  enemy,  only  by  loans  from  capitalists,  these  loans  are 
repaid  by  subsequent  taxation  of  the  people,  who  appear 
to  have  no  will  in  the  matter,  the  capitalists'  will  being  the 
primary  root  of  the  war ;  but  its  real  root  is  the  covetousness 
of  the  whole  nation,  rendering  it  incapable  of  faith,  frank- 
ness, or  justice,  and  bringing  about,  therefore,  in  due  time, 
his  own  separate  loss  and  punishment  to  each  person." 

48.  France  and  England  literally,  observe,  buy 
panic  of  each  other;  they  pay,  each  of  them,  for 
ten  thousand-thousand  pounds'  worth  of  terror,  a 
year.  Now  suppose,  instead  of  buying  these  ten 


OF  KINGS'   TREASURIES.  109 

millions'  worth  of  panic  annually,  they  made  up 
their  minds  to  be  at  peace  with  each  other,  and 
buy  ten  millions'  worth  of  knowledge  annually ; 
and  that  each  nation  spent  its  ten  thousand-thou- 
sand pounds  a  year  in  founding  royal  libraries, 
royal  art  galleries,  royal  museums,  royal  gardens, 
and  places  of  rest.  Might  it  not  be  better  some- 
what for  both  French  and  English. 

49.  It  will  be  long,  yet,  before  that  comes  to  pass. 
Nevertheless,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before  roy- 
al or  national  libraries  will  be  founded  in  every  con- 
siderable   city,    with    a  royal  series  of  books  in 
them ;  the  same  series  in  every  one  of  them,  chosen 
books,   the  best  in  every  kind,  prepared  for  that 
national  series  in  the  most  perfect  way  possible; 
their  text  printed  all  on  leaves  of  equal  size,  broad 
of  margin,    and   divided   into   pleasant   volumes, 
light    in   the   hand,    beautiful,    and   strong,    and 
thorough  as  examples  of  binders'  work ;  and  that 
these  great  libraries  will  be  accessible  to  all  clean 
and  orderly  persons  at  all  times  of  the  day  and 
evening ;  strict  law  being  enforced  for  this  cleanli- 
ness and  quietness. 

50.  I  could  shape  for  yeu  other  plans,  for  art 
galleries,  and  for  natural  history  galleries,  and  for 
many  precious — many,   it  seems  to  me,  needful — 
things;  but  this  book  plan  is  the  easiest  and  need- 


110  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

fulest,  and  would  prove  a  considerable  tonic  to 
what  we  call  our  British  Constitution,  which  has 
fallen  dropsical  of  late,  and  has  an  evil  thirst  and 
evil  hunger,  and  wants  healthier  feeding.  You  have 
got  its  corn  laws  repealed  for  it;  try  if  you  cannot 
get  corn  laws  established  for  it,  dealing  in  a  better 
bread, — bread  made  of  that  old  enchanted  Arabian 
grain,  the  sesame  which  opens  doors — doors,  not  of 
robbers',  but  of  Kings'  Treasuries. 


NOTE  TO  §  30. 

Respecting  the  increase  of  rent  by  the  deaths  of 
the  poor,  for  evidence  of  which  see  the  preface  to 
the  Medical  Officer's  report  to  the  Privy  Council, 
just  published,  there  are  suggestions  in  its  preface 
which  will  make  some  stir  among  us,  I  fancy,  re- 
specting which  let  me  note  these  points  follow- 
ing:— 

There  are  two  theories  on  the  subject  of  land 
now  abroad,  and  in  contention;  both  false. 

The  first  is,  that  by  Heavenly  law  there  have 
always  existed,  and  must  continue  to  exist,  a  cer- 
tain number  of  hereditarily  sacred  persons  to  \vhcm 
the  earth,  air,  and  water  of  the  world  belong,  as 
personal  property;  of  which  earth,  air,  and  water, 


OP   KINGS'   TREASURIES.  Ill 

these  persons  may,  at  their  pleasure,  permit  or  for- 
bid the  rest  of  the  human  race  to  eat,  to  breathe, 
or  to  drink.  This  theory  is  not  for  many  years 
longer  tenable.  The  adverse  theory  is,  that  a  divi- 
sion of  the  land  of  the  world  among  the  mob  of 
:he  world  would  immediately  elevate  the  said  mob 
into  sacred  personages;  that  houses  would  then 
build  themselves,  and  corn  grow  of  itself;  aad  that 
everybody  would  be  able  to  live  without  doing 
any  work  for  his  living.  This  theory  would  also  be 
found  highly  untenable  in  practice. 

It  will,  however,  require  some  rough  experiments 
and  rougher  catastrophes,  before  the  generality  of 
persons  will  be  convinced  that  no  law  concerning 
anything-— least  of  all  concerning  land,  for  either 
holding  or  dividing  it,  or  renting  it  high,  or  renting 
low — would  be  of  the  smallest  ultimate  use  to  the 
people,  so  long  as  the  general  contest  for  life,  and 
for  the  means  of  life,  remains  one  of  mere  brutal 
competition.  That  contest,  in  an  unprincipled  na- 
tion, will  take  one  deadly  form  or  another,  what- 
ever laws  you  make  against  it.  For  instance,  it 
would  be  an  entirely  wholesome  law  for  England, 
if  it  could  be  carried,  that  maximum  limits  should 
be  assigned  to  incomes  according  to  classes;  and 
that  every  nobleman's  income  should  be  paid  to 
him  as  a  fixed  salary  or  pension  by  the  nation,  and 


112  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

not  squeezed  by  him  in  variable  sums,  at  discretion, 
out  of  the  tenants  of  his  land.  But  if  you  could 
get  such  a  law  passed  to-morrow,  and  if,  which 
would  be  further  necessary,  you  could  fix  the  value 
of  the  assigned  incomes  by  making  a  given  weight 
of  pure  bread  for  a  given  sum,  a  twelvemonth 
would  not  pass  before  another  currency  would 
have  been  tacitly  established,  and  the  power  of  ac- 
cumulated wealth  would  have  re-asserted  itself  in 
some  other  article,  or  some  other  imaginary  sign. 
There  is  only  one  cure  for  public  distress,  and  that 
is  public  education,  directed  to  make  men  thought- 
ful, merciful,  and  just.  There  are,  indeed,  many 
laws  conceivable  which  would  gradually  better  and 
strengthen  the  national  temper ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  they  are  such  as  the  national  temper  must  be 
much  bettered  before  it  would  bear.  A  nation  in 
its  youth  may  be  helped  by  laws,  as  a  weak  child 
by  backboards,  but  when  it  is  old  it  cannot  that 
way  strengthen  its  crooked  spine. 

And  besides,  the  problem  of  land,  at  its  worst, 
Is  a  by  one;  distribute  the  earth  as  you  will,  the 
principal  question  remains  inexorable, — Who  is  to 
dig  it?  Which  of  us,  in  brief  word,  is  to  do  the 
hard  and  dirty  work  for  the  rest,  and  for  what 
pay?  Who  is  to  do  the  pleasant  and  clean  work, 
and  for  what  pay?  Who  is  to  do  no  work,  and 


OF  KINGS'   TEEASURIES.  113 

for  what  pay?  And  there  are  curious  moral  and 
religious  questions  connected  with  these.  How 
far  is  it  lawful  to  suck  a  portion  of  the  soul  out  of 
a  great  many  persons,  in  order  to  put  the  abstract- 
ed physical  quantities  together  and  make  one  very 
beautiful  or  ideal  soul?  If  we  had  to  deal  with 
mere  blood  instead  of  spirit  (and  the  thing  might 
literally  be  done,  as  it  has  been  done  with  infants 
before  now),  so  that  it  were  possible  by  taking  a 
certain  quantity  of  blood  from  the  arms  of  a  given 
number  of  the  mob  and  putting  it  all  into  one  per- 
son, to  make  a  more  azure-blooded  gentleman  of 
him,  the  thing  would  of  course  be  managed;  but 
secretly,  I  should  conceive.  But  now,  because  it 
is  brain  and  soul  that  we  abstract,  not  visible  blood, 
it  can  be  done  quite  openly,  and  we  live,  we  gen- 
tlemen, delicatest  prey,  after  the  manner  of  wea- 
sels; that  is  to  say,  we  keep  a  certain  number  of 
clowns  digging  and  ditching,  and  generally  stupe- 
fied, in  order  that  we,  being  fed  gratis,  may  have 
all  the  thinking  and  feeling  to  ourselves.  Yet 
there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  for  this.  A  highly- 
bred  and  trained  English,  French,  Austrian,  or 
Italian  gentleman  (much  more  a  lady)  is  a  great 
production, — a  better  production  than  most  stat- 
ues, being  bea'.itifully  colored  as  well  as  shaped, 
and  plus  all  the  brains ;  a  glorious  thing  to  look  at,  a 
8 


114  SES.a..aiJS  AND  LILIES. 


wonderful  thing  to  talk  to ;  and  you  cannot  have 
it,  any  more  than  a  pyramid  or  a  church,  but  by 
sacrifice  of  much  contributed  life.  And  it  is,  per- 
haps, better  to  build  a  beautiful  human  creature 
than  a  beautiful  dome  or  steeple,  and  more  delight- 
ful to  look  up  reverently  to  a  creature  far  above  us, 
than  to  a  wall;  only  the  beautiful  human  creature 
will  have  some  duties  to  do  in  return, — duties  of 
living  belfry  and  rampart — of  which  presently. 


n. 


LECTURE  H, 
£tlic0. 

OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS. 

Be  them  glad,  oh  thirsting  desert ;  let  the  desert  be  made 
cheerful,  and  bloom  as  a  lily;  and  the  barren  places  of  Jor- 
dan shall  run  wild  with  wood. — ISAIAH  xxxv.  I.  (Septua- 
gint.) 


I 


[T  will,  perhaps,  be  well,  as  this  Lecture  is 
the  sequel  of  one  previously  given,  that  I 
should  shortly  state  to  you  my  general  intention  in 
both.  The  questions  specially  proposed  to  you  in 
the  first,  namely,  How  and  What  to  Read,  rose  out 
of  a  far  deeper  one,  which  it  was  my  endeavor  to 
make  you  propose  earnestly  to  yourselves,  namely, 
Why  to  Read.  I  want  you  to  feel,  with  me,  that 
whatever  advantage  we  possess  in  the  present  day 
in  the  diffusion  of  education  and  of  literature,  can 
only  be  rightly  used  by  any  of  us  when  we  have 
apprehended  clearly  what  education  is  to  lead  tr\ 
and  literature  to  teach.  I  wish  you  to  see  tha* 
both  well-directed  moral  training  and  well-chose- 

(117) 


118  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

reading  lead  to  the  possession  of  a  power  over  ihv 
ill-guided  and  illiterate,  which  is,  according  to  thv 
measure  of  it,  in  the  truest  sense  kingly ;  confer- 
ring  indeed  the  purest  kingship  that  can  exist 
among  men.  Too  many  other  kingships  (however 
distinguished  by  visible  insignia  or  material  power) 
being  either  spectral,  or  tyrannous;  spectral — 
that  is  to  say,  aspects  and  shadows  only  of  royalty, 
hollow  as  death,  and  which  only  the  "likeness  of 
a  kingly  crown  have  on;  "  or  else  tyrannous — that 
is  to  say,  substituting  their  own  will  for  the  law  of 
iustice  and  love  by  which  all  true  kings  rule. 

52.  There  is,  then,  I  repeat  (and  as  I  want  to 
leave  this  idea  with  you,  I  begin  with  it,  and  shall 
end  with  it),  only  one  pure  kind  of  kingship, — an 
inevitable  and  eternal  kind,  crowned  or  not, — the 
kingship,  namely,  which  consists  in  a  stronger 
moral  state  and  a  truer  thoughtful  state  than  that 
of  others,  enabling  you,  therefore,  to  guide  or  to 
raise  them.  Observe  that  word  "state ;  "  we  have 
got  into  a  loose  way  of  using  it.  It  means  liter- 
ally the  standing  and  stability  of  a  thing ;  and  you 
have  the  full  force  of  it  in  the  derived  word 
"statue" — "the  immovable  thing."  A  king's 
majesty  or  "state,"  then,  and  the  right  of  his 
kingdom  to  be  called  a  State,  depends  on  the  move- 
lessness  of  both, — without  tremor,  without  quiver 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS. 


of  balance,  established  and  enthroned  upon  a 
foundation  of  eternal  law  which  nothing  can  alter 
nor  overthrow. 

53.  Believing  that  all  literature  and  all  educa- 
tion are  only  useful  so  far  as  they  tend  to  confirm  this 
calm,  beneficent,  and  therefore  kingly,  power,  — 
first,  over  ourselves,  and,  through  ourselves,  over 
all  around  us,  —  I  am  now  going  to  ask  you  to  con- 
sider with  me  further,  what  special  portion  or  kind 
of  this  royal  authority,  arising  out  of  noble  educa- 
tion; may  rightly  be  possessed  by  women;  and 
how  far  they  also  are  called  to  a  true  queenly  pow- 
er, —  not  in  their  households  merely,  but  over  all 
within  their  sphere.     And  in  what  sense,  if  they 
rightly  understood  and  exercised  this  royal  or  gra- 
cious influence,  the  order  and  beauty  induced  by 
such  benignant  power  would  justify  us  in  speaking 
of  the  territories  over  which  each  of  them  reigned 
as  "Queens'  Gardens." 

54.  And  here,  in  the  very  outset,  we  are  met  by 
a  far  deeper  question,  which  —  strange  though  this 
may  seem  —  remains  among  many  of  us  yet  quite 
undecided,  in  spite  of  its  infinite  importance. 

We  cannot  determine  what  the  queenly  power 
of  women  should  be  until  we  are  agreed  what  their 
ordinary  power  should  be.  We  cannot  consider 
how  education  may  fit  them  for  any  widely-extend- 


120  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

ing  duty  until  we  are  agreed  what  is  their  true  con- 
stant duty.  And  there  never  was  a  time  when 
wilder  words  were  spoken,  or  more  vain  imagina- 
tion permitted,  respecting  this  question — quite  vi- 
tal to  all  social  happiness.  The  relations  of  the 
womanly  to  the  manly  nature,  their  different  ca- 
pacities of  intellect  or  of  virtue,  seem  never  to 
have  been  yet  estimated  with  entire  consent.  We 
hear  of  the  "mission"  and  of  the  "rights"  of 
Woman,  as  if  these  could  ever  be  separate  from 
the  mission  and  the  rights  of  Man, — as  if  she  and 
her  lord  were  creatures  of  independent  kind,  and 
of  irreconcilable  claim.  This,  at  least,  is  wrong. 
And  not  less  wrong — perhaps  even  more  foolishly 
wrong  (for  I  will  anticipate  thus  far  what  I  hope 
to  prove) — is  the  idea  that  woman  is  only  the 
shadow  and  attendant  image  of  her  lord,  owing 
him  a  thoughtless  and  servile  obedience,  and 
supported  altogether  in  her  weakness,  by  the  pre- 
eminence of  his  fortitude. 

This,  I  say,  is  the  most  foolish  of  all  errors  re- 
specting her  who  was  made  to  be  the  helpmate  of 
man.  As  if  he  could  be  helped  effectively  by  a 
shadow,  or  worthily  by  a  slave ! 

55.  Let  us  try,  then,  whether  we  cannot  get  at 
some  clear  and  harmonious  idea  (it  must  be  har- 
monious if  it  is  true)  of  what  womanly  mind  and 


QUEENS'  GAKDENS.  121 


virtue  are  in  power  and  office,  with  respect  to 
man's ;  and  how  their  relations,  rightly  accepted, 
aid  and  increase  the  vigor  and  honor  and  author- 
ity of  both. 

And  now  I  must  repeat  one  thing  I  said  in  the 
last  lecture;  namely,  that  the  first  use  of  educa- 
tion was  to  enable  us  to  consult  with  the  wisest 
and  the  greatest  men  on  all  points  of  earnest  diffi- 
culty. That  to  use  books  rightly,  was  to  go  to 
them  for  help ;  to  appeal  to  them  when  our  own 
knowledge  and  power  of  thought  failed ;  to  be  led 
by  them  into  wider  sight,  purer  conception,  than 
our  own,  and  receive  from  them  the  united  sen- 
tence of  the  judges  and  councils  of  all  time, 
against  our  solitary  and  unstable  opinion. 

Let  us  do  this  now.  Let  us  see  whether  the 
greatest,  the  wisest,  the  purest-hearted  of  all  ages, 
are  agreed  in  any  wise  on  this  point ;  let  us  hear 
the  testimony  they  have  left  respecting  what  they 
held  to  be  the  true  dignity  of  woman,  and  her 
mode  of  help  to  man. 

56.  And  first  let  us  take  Shakespeare. 

Note  broadly  in  the  outset,  Shakespeare  has  nc 
heroes;  he  has  only  heroines.  There  is  not  one  en« 
tirely  heroic  figure  in  all  his  plays,  except  th< 
slight  sketch  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  exaggerated  for  the 
purposes  of  the  stage ;  and  the  still  slighter  Valen- 


SESAME  AND   LILIES. 


tine  Irf  "The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona."  ID 
his  labored  and  perfect  plays  you  have  no  hero. 
Othello  would  have  been  one  if  his  simplicity  had 
not  been  so  great  as  to  leave  him  the  prey  of  every 
base  practice  round  him;  but  he  is  the  only  exam- 
ple even  approximating  to  the  heroic  type.  Corio- 
lanus,  Caesar,  Antony,  stand  in  flawed  strength, 
and  fall  by  their  vanities  ;  Hamlet  is  indolent,  and 
drowsily  speculative;  Romeo,  an  impatient  boy; 
the  Merchant  of  Venice,  languidly  submissive  to 
adverse  fortune;  Kent,  in  "King  Lear,"  is  en- 
tirely noble  at  heart,  but  too  rough  and  unpolished 
to  be  of  true  use  at  the  critical  time,  and  he  sinks 
into  the  office  of  a  servant  only.  Orlando,  no  less 
noble,  is  yet  the  despairing  toy  of  Chance,  followed, 
comforted,  saved,  by  Rosalind.  Whereas  there  is 
hardly  a  play  that  has  not  a  perfect  woman  in  it, 
steadfast  in  grave  hope  and  errorless  purpose; 
Cordelia,  Desdemona,  Isabella,  Hermione,  Imogen, 
Queen  Catherine,  Perdita,  Sylvia,  Viola,  Rosalind, 
Helena,  and  last,  and  perhaps  loveliest,  Virgilia, 
are  all  faultless;  conceived  in  the  highest  heroic 
type  of  humanity. 

57.  Then  observe,  secondly, 

The  catastrophe  of  every  play  is  caused  always 
by  the  folly  or  fault  of  a  man  ;  the  redemption,  if 
there  be  any,  is  by  the  wisdom  and  virtue  of  a 


OF  QUEENS'   GARDENS.  123 

woman,  and  failing  that,  there  is  none.  The  ca- 
tastrophe of  King  Lear  is  owing  to  his  want  of 
judgment,  his  impatient  vanity,  his  misunder- 
standing of  his  children ;  the  virtue  of  his  one  true 
daughter  would  have  saved  him  from  all  the  inju- 
ries of  the  others,  unless  he  had  cast  her  away 
from  him ;  as  it  is,  she  all  but  saves  him. 

Of  Othello  I  need  not  trace  the  tale ;  nor  the 
one  weakness  of  his  mighty  love ;  nor  the  inferior- 
ity of  his  perceptive  intellect  to  that  even  of  the 
second  woman  character  in  the  play,  the  Emilia 
who  dies  in  wild  testimony  against  his  error : — 

"  O  murderous  coxcomb !     what  should  such  a  fool 
Do  with  so  good  a  wife  ?  " 

In  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  the  wise  and  brave 
stratagem  of  the  wife  is  brought  to  ruinous  issue 
by  the  reckless  impatience  of  her  husband.  In 
"Winter's  Tale,"  and  in  "Cymbeline,"  the  hap- 
piness and  existence  of  two  princely  households, 
lost  through  long  years,  and  imperilled  to  the 
death  by  the  folly  and  obstinacy  of  the  husbands, 
are  redeemed  at  last  by  the  queenly  patience  and 
wtisdom  of  the  wives.  In  "Measure  for  Measure," 
the  foul  injustice  of  the  judge  and  the  foul  cow- 
ardice of  the  brother  are  opposed  to  the  victorious 
truth  and  adamantine  purity  of  a  woman*  *a 


124  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

"Coriolanus,"  the  mother's  counsel,  acted  upon 
in  time,  would  have  saved  her  son  from  all  evil; 
his  momentary  forgetfulness  of  it  is  his  ruin.  Her 
prayer,  at  last  granted,  saves  him — not,  indeed, 
from  death,  but  from  the  curse  of  living  as  the 
destroyer  of  his  country. 

And  what  shall  I  say  of  Julia,  constant  against 
the  fickleness  of  a  lover  who  is  a  mere  wicked 
child? — of  Helena,  against  the  petulance  and  in- 
sult of  a  careless  youth  ? — of  the  patience  of  He- 
ro, the  passion  of  Beatrice,  and  the  calmly  devot- 
ed wisdom  of  the  "unlessoned  girl,"  who  appears 
among  the  helplessness,  the  blindness,  and  the 
vindictive  passions  of  men,  as  a  gentle  angel, 
bringing  courage  and  safety  by  her  presence,  and 
defeating  the  worst  malignities  of  crime  by  what 
women  are  fancied  most  to  fail  in, — precision  and 
accuracy  of  thought? 

58.  Observe,  further,  among  all  the  principal 
figures  in  Shakespeare's  plays  there  is  only  one 
weak  woman — Ophelia ;  and  it  is  because  she  fails 
Hamlet  at  the  critical  moment,  and  is  not,  and 
cannot  in  her  nature  be  a  guide  to  him  when  he 
needs  her  most,  that  all  the  bitter  catastrophe  fol- 
lows. Finally,  though  there  are  three  wicked  women 
among  the  principal  figures,  Lady  Macbeth,  Regan, 
and  Goneril,  they  are  felt  at  once  to  be  frightful  ex- 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  125 

ceptions  to  the  ordinary  laws  of  life ;  fatal  in  their 
influence  also,  in  proportion  to  the  power  for  good 
which  they  have  abandoned. 

Such,  in  broad  light,  is  Shakespeare's  testimony 
ro  the  position  and  character  of  women  in  human 
life.  He  represents  them  as  infallibly  faithful  and 
wise  counsellors, — incorruptibly  just  and  pure  ex- 
amples,— strong  always  to  sanctify,  even  when 
they  cannot  save. 

59.  Not  as  in  any  wise  comparable  in  knowledge 
of  the  nature  of  man, — still  less  in  his  understand- 
ing of  the  causes  and  courses  of  fate, — but  only  as 
the  writer  who  has  given  us  the  broadest  view  of 
the  conditions  and  modes  of  ordinary  thought  in 
modern  society,  I  ask  you  next  to  receive  the  wit- 
ness ®f  Walter  Scott. 

I  put  aside  his  merely  romantic  prose  writings 
as  of  no  value  ;  and  though  the  early  romantic 
poetry  is  very  beautiful,  its  testimony  is  of  BO 
weight,  other  than  that  of  a  boy's  ideal.  But  bis 
true  works,  studied  from  Scottish  life,  bear  a  true 
•.vitness  ;  and  in  the  whole  range  of  these,  there 
are  but  three  men  who  reach  the  heroic  type1 — 

1  I  ought,  in  order  to  make  this  assertion  fully  under- 
stood, to  have  noticed  tie  varisas  weaknesses  which  lower 
the  ideal  of  other  great  characters  &f  men  i-n  the  Waverly 
novels, — the  selfishness  and  narrowness  of  thought  in  Red- 


126  SESAME   ANT)   LILIES. 

Dandle  Dinmont,  Rob  Roy,  and  Claverhouse ;  of 
these,  one  is  a  border  farmer ;  another  a  free- 
booter ;  the  third  a  soldier  in  a  bad  cause.  And 
these  touch  the  ideal  of  heroism  only  in  their 
courage  and  faith,  together  with  a  strong,  but  un- 
cultivated or  mistakenly  applied  intellectual  power  : 
while  his  younger  men  are  the  gentlemanly  play- 
things of  fantastic  fortune,  and  only  by  aid  (or  acci- 
dent) of  that  fortune,  survive,  not  vanquish,  the  trials 
they  involuntarily  sustain.  Of  any  disciplined  or 
consistent  character,  earnest  in  a  purpose  wisely 
conceived,  or  dealing  with  forms  of  hostile  evil, 
definitely  challenged  and  resolutely  subdued,  there 
is  no  trace  in  his  conceptions  of  young  men. 
Whereas,  in  his  imaginations  of  women, — in  the 
characters  of  Ellen  Douglas,  of  Flora  Maclvor, 
Rose  Bradwardine,  Catherine  Seyton,  Diana  Ver- 
non,  Lilias  Redgauntlet,  Alice  Bridgenorth,  Alice 
Lee,  and  Jeanie  Deans, — with  endless  varieties  of 
grace,  tenderness,  and  intellectual  power,  we  find 

gauntlet,  the  weak  religious  enthusiasm  in  Edward  Glen- 
dinning,  and  the  like ;  and  I  ought  to  have  noticed  that 
there  are  several  quite  perfect  characters  sketched  soHie- 
times  in  the  backgrounds;  three — let  us  accept  joyously 
this  courtesy  to  England  and  her  soldiers — are  English 
officers:  Colonel  Gardiner,  Colonel  Talbot,  and  Colonel 
Manaering. 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  127 

in  all  a  quite  infallible  sense  of  dignity  and  jus- 
tice ;  a  fearless,  instant,  and  untiring  self-sacrifice 
to  even  the  appearance  of  duty,  much  more  to  its 
real  claims ;  and  finally,  a  patient  wisdom  of 
deeply-restrained  affection,  which  does  infinitely 
more  than  protect  its  objects  from  a  momentary 
error ;  it  gradually  forms,  animates,  and  exalts  th» 
characters  of  the  unworthy  lovers,  until  at  the 
close  of  the  tale,  we  are  just  able,  and  no  more,  to 
take  patience  in  hearing  of  their  unmerited  suc- 
cess. 

So  that  in  all  cases,  with  Scott  as  with  Shake- 
speare, it  is  the  woman  who  watches  over,  teaches, 
and  guides  the  youth ;  it  is  never,  by  any  chance, 
the  youth  who  watches  over  or  educates  his  mis- 
tress. 

60.  Next  take,  though  more  briefly,  graver  tes- 
timony,— that  of  the  great  Italians  and  Greeks. 
You  know  well  the  plan  of  Dante's  great  poem — 
that  it  is  a  love-poem  to  his  dead  lady  ;  a  song  of 
praise  for  her  watch  over  his  soul.  Stooping  only 
to  pity,  never  to  love,  she  yet  saves  him  from  de- 
struction— saves  him  from  hell.  He  is  going  eter- 
nally astray  in  despair  ;  she  comes  down  from 
heaven  to  his  help,  and  throughout  the  ascents  of 
Paradise  is  his  teacher,  interpreting  for  him  the 
most  difficult  truths,  Divine  and  human,  and  lead- 


128  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

ing  him,  with  rebuke  upon  rebuke,  from  star  to 
star. 

I  do  not  insist  upon  Dante's  conception ;  if  I 
began  I  could  not  cease ;  besides,  you  might  think 
this  a  wild  imagination  of  one  poet's  heart.  So  I 
will  rather  read  to  you  a  few  verses  of  the  deliber- 
ate writing  of  a  knight  of  Pisa  to  his  living  lady, 
wholly  characteristic  of  the  feeling  of  all  the 
noblest  men  of  the  thirteenth  or  early  fourteenth 
century,  preserved  among  many  other  such  records 
of  knightly  honor  and  love,  which  Dante  Rossetti 
has  gathered  for  us  from  among  the  early  Italian 
poets. 

"  For  lo !  thy  law  is  passed 
That  this  my  love  should  manifestly  be 

To  serve  and  honor  thee  : 
And  so  I  do ;  and  my  delight  is  full, 
Accepted  for  the  servant  of  thy  rule. 

"  Without  almost,  I  am  all  rapturous, 
Since  thus  my  will  was  set : 
To  serve,  thou  flower  of  joy,  thine  excellence; 
Nor  ever  seems  it  anything  could  rouse 

A  pain  or  a  regret. 

But  on  thee  dwells  my  every  thought  and  sense; 
Considering  that  from  thee  all  virtues  spread 
As  from  a  fountain  head, — 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  I:i9 

*p\ . . 

That  in  thy  gift  is  wisdom's  test  avail, 

And  honor  without  fail  ; 

With  whom  each  sovereign  good  dwells  separate, 
Fulfilling  the  perfection  of  thy  state. 

"  Lady,  since  I  conceived 
Thy  pleasurable  aspect  in  my  heart, 

My  life  has  been  apart 
In  shining  brightness  and  the  place  of  truth  ; 

Which  till  that  time,  good  sooth, 
Groped  among  shadows  in  a  darkened  place, 

Where  many  hours  and  days 
It  hardly  ever  had  remembered  good. 

But  now  my  servitude 
Is  thine,  and  I  am  full  of  joy  and  rest. 

A  man  from  a  wild  beast 
Thou  madest  me,  since  for  thy  love  I  lived." 

61.  You  may  think,  perhaps,  a  Greek  knight 
would  have  had  a  lower  estimate  of  womsn  than 
this  Christian  lover.  His  spiritual  subjection  to 
them  was  indeed  not  so  absolute ;  but  as  regards 
their  own  personal  character,  it  was  only  because 
you  could  not  have  followed  me  so  easily,  that  I 
did  not  take  the  Greek  women  instead  of  Shake- 
speare's; and  instance,  for  chief  ideal  types  of 
human  beauty  and  faith,  the  simple  mother's  and 
wife's  heart  of  Andromache;  the  divine  yet  re- 
jected wisdom  of  Cassandra ;  the  playful  kindness 
and  simple  princess-life  of  happy  Nausicaa ;  the 
9 


130  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 


housewifely  calm  of  that  of  Penelope,  with  its 
watch  upon  the  sea ;  the  ever  patient,  fearless, 
hopelessly  devoted  piety  of  the  sister  and  daughter, 
in  Antigone;  the  bowing  down  of  Iphigenia, 
lamb-like  and  silent ;  and  finally,  the  expectation 
of  the  resurrection,  made  clear  to  the  soul  of  the 
Greeks  in  the  return  from  her  grave  of  that  Alces- 
tis,  who,  to  save  her  husband,  had  passed  calmly 
through  the  bitterness  of  death. 

62.  Now  I  could  multiply  witness  upon  witness 
of  this  kind  upon  you  if  I  had  time.  I  would 
take  Chaucer,  and  show  you  why  he  wrote  a 
Legend  of  Good  Women,  but  no  Legend  of  Good 
Men.  I  would  take  Spenser,  and  show  you  how 
all  his  fairy  knights  are  sometimes  deceived  and 
sometimes  vanquished ;  but  the  soul  of  Una  is 
never  darkened,  and  the  spear  of  Britomart  is 
never  broken.  Nay,  I  could  go  back  into  the 
mythical  teaching  of  the  most  ancient  times,  and 
show  you  how  the  great  people, — by  one  of  whose 
princesses  it  was  appointed  that  the  lawgiver  of  all 
the  earth  should  be  educated,  rather  than  by  his 
own  kindred, — how  that  great  Egyptian  people, 
wisest  then  of  nations,  gave  to  their  Spirit  of  Wis- 
dom the  form  of  a  woman,  and  into  her  hand,  for 
a  symbol,  the  weaver's  shuttle ;  and  how  the 
name  and  the  form  of  that  spirit,  adopted, 


OP  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  131 

believed,  and  obeyed  by  the  Greeks,  became  that 
Athena  of  the  olive-helm  and  cloudy  shield,  to 
faith  in  whom  you  owe,  down  to  this  date,  what- 
ever you  hold  most  precious  in  art,  in  literature,  or 
in  types  of  national  virtue. 

63.  But  I  will  not  wander  into  this  distant  and 
mythical  element ;  I  will  only  ask  you  to  give  its 
legitimate  value  to  the  testimony  of  these  great 
poets  and  men  of  the  world, — consistent  as  you 
see  it  is,  on  this  head.     I  will  ask  you  whether  it 
can  be  supposed  that  these  men,  in  the  main  work 
of  their  lives,  are  amusing  themselves  with  a  ficti- 
tious and  idle  view  of  the  relations  between  man 
and  woman ;  nay,  worse  than  fictitious  or  idle — 
for  a  thing  may  be  imaginary,  yet  desirable,  if  it 
were  possible;  but  this,  their  ideal  of  woman,  is, 
according  to  our  common  idea  of  the  marriage  re- 
lation, wholly  undesirable.     The  woman,  we  say, 
is  not  to  guide,  nor  even  to  think  for  herself.     The 
man  is  always  to  be  the  wiser ;  he  is  to  be  the 
thinker,  the  ruler,  the  superior  in  knowledge  and 
discretion,  as  in  power. 

64.  Is  it  not  somewhat  important  to  make  up 
our  minds  on  this  matter?    Are  all  these  great 
men  mistaken  or  are  we  ?     Are  Shakespeare  and 
yEschylus,    Dante    and  Homer,   merely   dressing 
dolls   for  us;    or  worse    than    dolls,    unnatural 


132  SESAME    AND   LILIES. 

visions,  the  realization  of  which,  were  it  possible, 
would  bring  anarchy  into  all  households  and  ruin 
into  all  affections?  Nay,  if  you  can  suppose  this, 
take  lastly  the  evidence  of  facts  given  by  the  human 
heart  itself.  In  all  Christian  ages  which  have 
been  remarkable  for  their  purity  of  progress, 
there  has  been  absolute  yielding  of  obedient  devo- 
tion, by  the  lover  to  his  mistress.  I  say  obedient, 
— not  merely  enthusiastic  and  worshipping  in  im- 
agination, but  entirely  subject,  receiving  from  the 
beloved  woman,  however  young,  not  only  the  en- 
couragement, the  praise,  and  the  reward  of  all  toil, 
but  so  far  as  any  choice  is  open,  or  any  question 
difficult  of  decision,  the  direction  of  all  toil.  That 
chivalry, — to  the  abuse  and  dishonor  of  which  are 
attributable  primarily  whatever  is  cruel  in  war,  un- 
just in  peace,  or  corrupt  and  ignoble  in  domestic 
relations,  and  to  the  original  purity  and  power  of 
which  we  owe  the  defence  alike  of  faith,  of  law, 
and  of  love, — that  chivalry,  I  say,  in  its  very  first 
conception  of  honorable  life,  assumes  the  subjec- 
tion of  the  young  knight  to  the  command — should 
it  even  be  the  command  in  caprice — of  his  lady. 
It  assumes  this  because  its  masters  knew  that  the 
first  and  necessary  impulse  of  every  truly  taught 
and  knightly  heart  is  this  of  blind  service  to  its 
lady ;  that  where  that  true  faith  and  captivity  are 


OF   QUEENS'   GAKDENS.  133 


not,  all  wayward  and  wicked  passion  must  be ; 
and  that  in  this  rapturous  obedience  to  the  single 
love  of  his  youth,  is  the  sanctification  of  all  man's 
strength,  and  the  continuance  of  all  his  purposes. 
And  this,  not  because  such  obedience  would  be 
safe  or  honorable,  were  it  ever  rendered  to  the  un- 
worthy, but  because  it  ought  to  be  impossible  for 
every  noble  youth — it  is  impossible  for  every  one 
rightly  trained — to  love  any  one  whose  gentle 
counsel  he  cannot  trust,  or  whose  prayerful  com- 
mand he  can  hesitate  to  obey. 

65.  I  do  not  insist  by  any  further  argument  on 
this;  for  I  think  it  should  commend  itself  at  once 
to  your  knowledge  of  what  has  been,  and  to  your 
feeling  of  what  should  be.  You  cannot  think  that 
the  buckling  on  of  the  knight's  armor  by  his  lady's 
hand  was  a  mere  caprice  of  romantic  fashion.  It 
is  the  type  of  an  eternal  truth :  that  the  soul's 
armor  is  never  well  set  to  the  heart  unless  a 
woman's  hand  has  braced  it ;  and  it  is  only  when 
she  braces  it  loosely  that  the  honor  of  manhood  fails. 
Know  you  not  those  lovely  lines — I  would  they 
were  learned  by  all  youthful  ladies  of  England, — 

""Ah,  wasteful  woman! — she  who  may 

On  her  sweet  self  set  her  own  price, 
Knowing  he  cannot  choose  but  pay, 
How  has  she  cheapened  Paradise ! 


134  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

How  given  for  nought  her  priceless  gift, 

How  spoiled  the  bread  and  spilled  the  wine, 

Which  spent  with  due  respective  thrift, 

Had  made  brutes  men,  and  men  divine ! ''  1 

66.  Thus  much,  then,  respecting  the  relations 
of  lovers  I  believe  you  will  accept.  But  what  we 
tuo  often  doubt  is  the  fitness  of  the  continuance  of 
she'll  a  relation  throughout  the  whole  of  human 
hie.  We  think  it  right  in  the  lover  and  mistress, 
not  in  the  husband  and  wife.  That  is  to  say,  we 
think  that  a  reverent  and  tender  duty  is  due  to 
one  whose  affection  we  still  doubt,  and  whose 
character  we  as  yet  do  but  partially  and  dis- 
tantly discern ;  and  that  this  reverence  and 
duty  are  to  be  withdrawn  when  the  affection  has 
become  wholly  and  limitlessly  our  own,  and  the 
character  has  been  so  sifted  and  tried  that  we  fear 
not  to  entrust  it  with  the  happiness  of  our  lives. 
Do  you  not  see  how  ignoble  this  is,  as  well  as  how 
unreasonable?  Do  you  not  feel  that  marriage, 
when  it  is  marriage  at  all,  is  only  the  seal  which 
marks  the  vowed  transition  of  temporary  into  un- 
tiring service,  and  of  fitful  into  eternal  love? 

1  Coventry  Patmore.  You  cannot  read  him  too  often  or 
too  carefully ;  as  far  as  I  know,  he  is  the  only  living  poet 
who  always  strengthens  and  purifies ;  the  others  sometimes 
f'arken,  and  nearly  always  depress  and  discourage,  the  im- 
agination they  deeply  seize. 


OF  QUEENS''  GARDENS.  135 

67.  But  how,  you  will  ask,  is  the  idea  of  this 
guiding  function  of  the  woman  reconcilable  with 
a  true  wifely  subjection  ?     Simply  in  that  it  is  a 
guiding,  not  a  determining,  function.     Let  me  try 
to  show  you  briefly  how  these  powers  seem  to  be, 
rightly  distinguishable. 

We  are  foolish,  and  without  excuse  foolish,  in 
speaking  of  the  "superiority"  of  one  sex  to  the 
jther,  as  if  they  could  be  compared  in  similar 
things.  Each  has  what  the  other  has  not;  each 
completes  the  other,  and  is  completed  by  the  other. 
They  are  in  nothing  alike,  and  the  happiness  and 
perfection  of  both  depends  on  each  asking  and 
receiving  from  the  other  what  the  other  only  can 
give. 

68.  Now  their  separate  characters  are   briefly 
these.     The  man's  power  is  active,  progressive,  de 
fensive.     He  is  eminently  the  doer,  the  creator, 
the  discoverer,  the  defender.     His  intellect  is  for 
speculation  and  invention ;  his  energy  for  adven- 
ture, for  war,  and  for  conquest,  whenever  war  is 
just,  whenever  conquest  necessary.     But  the  wo- 
man's power  is  for  rule,  not  for  battle;  and  her 
intellect  is  not  for  invention  or  creation,  but  f <  r 
sweet  ordering,  arrangement,  and  decision.     She 
sees  the  qualities  of  things,  their  claims,  and  their 
places.     Her  great  function  is  praise ;  she  enters 


136  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

into  no  contest,  but  infallibly  adjudges  the  crown 
of  contest.  By  her  office  and  place,  she  is  pro- 
tected from  all  danger  and  temptation.  The  man, 
in  his  rough  work  in  the  open  world,  must  en- 
counter all  peril  and  trial, — to  him  therefore  must 
be  the  failure,  the  offence,  the  inevitable  error;  of- 
ten he  must  be  wounded  or  subdued ;  often  mis- 
led ;  and  always  hardened.  But  he  guards  the 
woman  from  all  this;  within  his  house  as  ruled 
by  her,  unless  she  herself  has  sought  it,  need  enter 
no  danger,  no  temptation,  no  cause  of  error  or 
offence.  This  is  the  true  nature  of  home — it  is 
the  place  of  peace ;  the  shelter,  not  only  from  all 
injury,  but  from  all  terror,  doubt,  and  division. 
In  so  far  as  it  is  not  this,  it  is  not  home ;  so  far  as 
the  anxieties  of  the  outer  life  penetrate  into  it, 
and  the  inconsistently-minded,  unknown,  unloved, 
or  hostile  society  of  the  outer  world  is  allowed  by 
either  husband  or  wife  to  cross  the  threshold,  it 
ceases  to  be  home ;  it  is  then  only  a  part  of  that 
outer  world  which  you  have  roofed  over  and  lighted 
fire  in.  But  so  far  as  it  is  a  sacred  place,  a  vestal 
temple,  a  temple  of  the  hearth  v/atched  over  by 
household  gods,  before  whose  faces  none  may 
come  but  those  whom  they  can  receive  with  love, — 
so  far  as  it  is  this,  and  roof  and  fire  are  types  only 
of  a  nobler  shade  and  light,  shade  as  cf  the  rock 


OF  QUEENS'  GABDENS.  137 

in  a  weary  land,  and  light  as  of  the  Pharos  in  the 
stormy  sea, — so  far  it  vindicates  the  name  and  ful- 
fils the  praise  of  home. 

And  wherever  a  true  wife  comes,  this  home  is 
always  round  her.  The  stars  only  may  be  over 
her  head,  the  glow-worm  in  the  night-cold  grass 
may  be  the  only  fire  at  her  foot,  but  home  is  yet 
wherever  she  is;  and  for  a  noble  woman  it  stretches 
far  round  her,  better  than  ceiled  with  cedar  or 
painted  with  vermilion,  shedding  its  quiet  light  far, 
for  those  who  else  were  homeless. 

69.  This,  then,  I  believe  to  be, — will  you  not 
idmit  it  to  be? — the  woman's  true  place  and  pow- 
er. But  do  not  you  see  that  to  fulfil  this,  she  must 
— as  far  as  one  can  use  such  terms  of  a  human 
creature — be  incapable  of  error?  So  far  as  she 
rules,  all  must  be  right,  or  nothing  is.  She  must 
be  enduringly,  incorruptibly  good,  instinctively, 
infallibly  wise, — wise  not  for  self-development, 
but  for  self-renunciation ;  wise,  not  that  she  may 
set  herself  above  her  husband,  but  that  she  may 
never  fail  from  his  side ;  wise,  not  with  the  narrow- 
ness of  insolent  and  loveless  pride,  but  with  the 
passionate  gentleness  of  an  infinitely  variable,  be- 
cause infinitely  applicable,  modesty  of  service — 
the  true  changefulness  of  woman.  In  that  great 
sense,  "  La  donna  e  mobile,"  not  "  qual  pium*  al 


138  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

vento;  "  no,  nor  yet  "  Variable  as  the  shade  by  the 
light  quivering  aspen  made;  "  but  variable  as  the 
light,  manifold  in  fair  and  serene  division  that  it  may 
take  the  color  of  all  that  it  falls  upon,  and  exalt  it. 

70.  I  have  been  trying,  thus  far,  to  show  you 
what  should  be  the  place,  and  what  the  power,  of 
woman.  Now,  secondly,  we  ask,  What  kind  of 
education  is  to  fit  her  for  these  ? 

And  if  you  indeed  think  this  a  true  conception 
of  her  office  and  dignity,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to 
trace  the  course  of  education  which  would  fit  her 
for  the  one  and  raise  her  to  the  other. 

The  first  of  our  duties  to  her — no  thoughtful 
persons  now  doubt  this — is  to  secure  for  her  such 
physical  training  and  exercise  as  may  confirm  her 
health  and  perfect  her  beauty ;  the  highest  refinement 
of  that  beauty  being  unattainable  without  splendor 
of  activity  and  of  delicate  strength.  To  perfect 
her  beauty,  I  say,  and  increase  its  power ;  it  can- 
not be  too  powerful,  nor  shed  its  sacred  light  too 
far;  only  remember  that  all  physical  freedom  is 
vain  to  produce  beauty  without  a  corresponding 
freedom  of  heart.  There  are  two  passages  of  that 
poet,  who  is  distinguished,  it  seems  to  me,  from 
all  others, — not  by  power,  but  by  exquisite  right- 
ness, — which  point  you  to  the  source,  and  describe 
to  you  in  a  few  syllables,  the  completion  of  wo- 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  139 


manly  beauty.  I  will  read  the  introductory  stan- 
zas, but  the  last  is  the  one  I  wish  you  specially  to 
notice : — 

"  Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower, 
Then  Nature  said,  « A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown. 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 

A  lady  of  my  own. 

"•Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 

Both  law  and  impulse ;  and  with  me 

The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower, 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power, 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

u '  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her,  for  her  the  willow  bend ; 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm, 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form 

By  silent  sympathy. 
«•  •  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 

Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell. 
Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give, 
While  she  and  I  together  live, 

Here  in  this  happy  dell.'  "  1 

i  Observe,  it  is  Nature  who  is  speaking  throughout,  and 
yho  says,  "  While  she  and  I  together  live." 


140  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

"  Vital  feeling  of  delight,"  observe.  There 
are  deadly  feelings  of  delight ;  but  the  natural 
ones  are  vital,  necessary  to  very  life. 

And  they  must  be  feelings  of  delight,  if  they 
are  to  be  vital.  Do  not  think  you  can  make  a  girl 
lovely,  if  you  do  not  make  her  happy.  There  is 
not  one  restraint  you  put  on  a  good  girl's  nature, 
there  is  not  one  check  you  give  to  her  instincts  of 
affection  or  of  effort,  which  will  not  be  indelibly 
written  on  her  features,  with  a  hardness  which  is 
all  the  more  painful  because  it  takes  away  the 
brightness  from  the  eyes  of  innocence,  and  the 
charm  from  the  brow  of  virtue. 

71.  This  for  the  means;  now  note  the  end. 
Take  from  the  same  poet,  in  two  lines,  a  perfect 
description  of  womanly  beauty, — 

"  A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet." 

The  perfect  loveliness  of  a  woman's  countenance 
can  only  consist  in  that  majestic  peace  which  is 
founded  in  the  memory  of  happy  and  useful  years, 
full  of  sweet  records  ;  and  from  the  joining  of  this 
with  that  yet  more  majestic  childishness,  which  is 
still  full  of  change  and  promise, — opening  always 
— modest  at  once,  and  bright,  with  the  hope  of 
better  things  to  be  won,  and  to  be  bestowed. 


OP   QUEENS'   GARDENS.  141 


There  is  no  old  age  where  there  is  still  that 
promise. 

72.  Thus,  then,  you  have  first  to  mould  her 
physical  frame,  and  then,  as  the  strength  she  gains 
will  permit  you,  to  fill  and  temper  her  mind  with 
all  knowledge  and  thoughts  which  tend  to  confirm 
its  natural  instincts  of  justice,  and  refine  its  natural 
tact  of  love. 

All  such  knowledge  should  be  given  her  as  may 
enable  her  to  understand,  and  even  to  aid,  the 
work  of  men  ;  and  yet  it  should  be  given,  not  as 
knowledge, — not  as  if  it  were,  or  could  be, 
for  her  an  object  to  know,  but  only  to 
feel,  and  to  judge.  It  is  of  no  moment, 
as  a  matter  of  pride  or  perfectness  in  herself, 
whether  she  knows  many  languages  or  one  ;  but  it 
is  of  the  utmost,  that  she  should  be  able  to  show 
kindness  to  a  stranger,  and  to  understand  the 
sweetness  of  a  stranger's  tongue.  It  is  of  no  mo- 
ment to  her  own  worth  or  dignity  that  she  should 
be  acquainted  with  this  science  or  that ;  but  it  is 
of  the  highest  that  she  should  be  trained  in  habits 
of  accurate  thought ;  that  she  should  understand 
the  meaning,  the  inevitableness,  and  the  loveliness 
of  natural  laws ;  and  follow  at  least  some  one  path 
of  scientific  attainment  as  far  as  to  the  threshold 
of  that  bitter  valley  of  humiliation,  into  which 


142  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

only  the  wisest  and  bravest  of  men  can  descend, 
owning  themselves  forever  children,  gathering 
pebbles  on  a  boundless  shore.  It  is  of  little  con- 
sequence how  many  positions  of  cities  she  knows, 
or  how  many  dates  of  events,  or  names  of  cele- 
brated persons — it  is  not  the  object  of  education  to 
turn  the  woman  into  a  dictionary ;  but  it  is  deeply 
necessary  that  she  should  be  taught  to  enter  with 
her  whole  personality  into  the  history  she  reads ; 
to  picture  the  passages  of  it  vitally  in  her  own 
bright  imagination ;  to  apprehend,  with  her  fine 
instincts,  the  pathetic  circumstances  and  dramatir 
relations,  which  the  historian  too  often  onl, 
eclipses  by  his  reasoning,  and  disconnects  by  his 
arrangement :  it  is  for  her  to  trace  the  hidden 
equities  of  Divine  reward,  and  catch  sight, 
through  the  darkness,  of  the  fateful  threads  of 
woven  fire  that  connect  error  with  retribution. 
But  chiefly  of  all,  she  is  to  be  taught  to  extend  the 
limits  of  her  sympathy  with  respect  to  that  history 
which  is  being  forever  determined  as  the  moments 
pass  in  which  she  draws  her  peaceful  breath,  and 
to  the  contemporary  calamity,  which,  were  it  but 
rightly  mourned  by  her,  would  recur  no  more 
hereafter.  She  is  to  exercise  herself  in  imagining 
what  would  be  the  effects  upon  her  mind  and  con- 
duct, if  she  were  daily  brought  into  the  presence 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  143 

of  suffering  which  is  not  the  less  real  because  shut 
from  her  sight.  She  is  to  be  taught  somewhat  to 
understand  the  nothingness  of  the  proportion 
which  that  little  world  in  which  she  lives  and 
loves,  bears  to  the  world  in  which  God  lives  and 
loves ;  and  solemnly  she  is  to  be  taught  to  strive 
that  her  thoughts  of  piety  may  not  be  feeble  in 
proportion  to  the  number  they  embrace,  nor  her 
prayer  more  languid  than  it  is  for  the  momentary 
relief  from  pain  of  her  husband  or  her  child,  when 
it  is  uttered  for  the  multitudes  of  those  who  have 
none  to  love  them,  and  is  "  for  all  who  are  deso- 
late and  oppressed." 

73.  Thus  far,  I  think,  I  have  had  your  concur- 
rence; perhaps  you  will  not  be  with  me  in  what  I 
believe  is  most  needful  for  me  to  say.  There  is 
one  dangerous  science  for  women, — one  which 
they  must  indeed  beware  how  they  profanely 
touch, — that  of  theology.  Strange,  and  miserably 
strange,  that  while  they  are  modest  enough  to 
doubt  their  powers,  and  pause  at  the  threshold  of 
sciences  where  every  step  is  demonstrable  and  sure, 
they  will  plunge  headlong,  and  without  one 
thought  of  incompetency,  into  that  science  in 
which  the  greatest  men  have  trembled,  and  the 
wisest  erred.  Strange,  that  they  will  complacently 
and  pridefully  bind  up  whatever  vice  or  folly  there 


144  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

is  in  them,  whatever  arrogance,  petulance,  or  blind 
incomprehensiveness,  into  one  bitter  bundle  of 
consecrated  myrrh.  Strange  in  creatures  born  to 
be  Love  visible,  that  where  they  can  know  least, 
they  will  condemn  first,  and  think  to  recommend 
themselves  to  their  Master,  by  crawling  up  the 
Steps  of  His  judgment-throne,  to  divide  it  with 
Him.  Strangest  of  all,  that  they  should  think 
they  were  led  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Comforter^  into 
habits  of  mind  which  have  become  in  them  the 
unmixed  elements  of  home  discomfort ;  and  that 
they  dare  to  turn  the  household  gods  of  Christi- 
anity into  ugly  idols  of  their  own, — spiritual  dolls 
for  them  to  dress  according  to  their  caprice,  and 
from  which  their  husbands  must  turn  away  in 
grieved  contempt,  lest  they  should  be  shrieked  at 
for  breaking  them. 

74.  I  believe,  then,  with  this  exception,  that  a 
girl's  education  should  be  nearly,  in  its  course  and 
material  of  study,  the  same  as  a  boy's  ;  but  quite 
differently  directed.  A  woman  in  any  rank  of 
life,  ought  to  know  whatever  her  husband  is  likely 
to  know,  but  to  know  it  in  a  different  way.  His 
command  of  it  should  be  foundational  and  pro- 
gressive ;  hers,  general  and  accomplished  for  daily 
and  helpful  use.  Not  but  that  it  would  often  be 
wiser  in  men  to  learn  things  in  a  womanly  sort  of 


fesame  and  Lilies    3 


JOSEPH  M.  W.  TURNER 


OP  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  145 


way,  for  present  use,  and  to  seek  lor  the  discipline 
and  training  of  their  mental  powers  in  such 
branches  of  study  as  will  be  afterward  fitted  for 
social  service.  But  speaking  broadly,  a  man 
ought  to  know  any  language  or  science  he  learns, 
thoroughly;  while  a  woman  ought  to  know  the 
same  language  or  science  only  so  far  as  may  en- 
able her  to  sympathize  in  her  husband's  pleasures, 
and  in  those  of  his  best  friends. 

75.  Yet,  observe,  with  exquisite  accuracy  as  far 
as  she  reaches.  There  is  a  wide  difference  between 
elementary  knowledge  and  superficial  knowledge — 
between  a  firm  beginning,  and  an  infirm  attempt 
at  compassing.  A  woman  may  always  help  her 
husband  by  what  she  knows,  however  little;  by 
what  she  half-knows,  or  mis-knows,  she  will  only 
tease  him. 

And  indeed  if  there  were  to  be  any  difference 
between  a  girl's  education  and  a  boy's,  I  should 
say  that  of  the  two  the  girl  should  be  earlier  led, 
as  her  intellect  ripens  faster,  into  deep  and  serious 
subjects,  and  that  her  range  of  literature  should  be, 
not  more,  but  less  frivolous, — calculated  to  add 
the  qualities  of  patience  and  seriousness  to  her 
natural  poignancy  of  thought  and  quickness  of 
wit,  and  also  to  keep  her  in  a  lofty  and  pure  ele- 
ment of  thought.  I  enter  not  now  into  any  ques- 
16 


146  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

tion  of  choice  of  books ;  only  let  us  be  sure  that 
her  books  are  not  heaped  up  in  her  lap  as  they  fall 
out  of  the  package  of  the  circulating  library,  wet 
with  the  last  and  lightest  spray  of  the  iountain  of 
folly. 

76.  Or  even  of  the  fountain  of  wit ;  for  with 
respect  to  the  sore  temptation  of  novel  reading,  it 
is  not  the  badness  of  a  novel  that  we  should  dread 
so  much  as  its  overwrought  interest.     The  weakest 
romance  is  not  so  stupefying  as  the  lower  forms  of 
religious  exciting  literature,  and  the  worst  romance 
is  not  so  corrupting  as  false  history,  false  philoso- 
phy,   or    false    political    essays.      But    the    best 
romance  becomes  dangerous,  if  by  its  excitement 
it  renders  the  ordinary  course  of  life  uninteresting, 
and  increases  the   morbid    thirst   for   useless  ac- 
quaintance with  scenes  in  which  we  shall  never  be 
called  upon  to  act. 

77.  I  speak,  therefore,  of  good  novels  only,  and 
our  modern  literature  is  particularly  rich  in  types 
of  such.     Well  read,   indeed,   these   books   have 
serious  use,   being  nothing  less  than  treatises  on 
;noral  anatomy  and  chemistry  ;  studies  of  human 
nature  in  the  elements  of  it.     But  I  attach  little 
weight  to  this  function  ;  they  are  hardly  ever  read 
y.*ith  earnestness  enough  to  permit  them  to  fulfil  it. 
The  utmost  they  usually  do  is  to  enlarge  somewhat 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  147 

the  charity  of  a  kind  reader,  or  the  bitterness  of 
a  malicious  one ;  for  each  will  gather  from  the 
novel  food  for  her  own  disposition.  Those  who 
are  naturally  proud  and  envious  will  learn  from 
Thackeray  to  despise  humanity ;  those  who  are 
naturally  gentle,  to  pity  it ;  those  who  are  natur- 
ally shallow,  to  laugh  at  it.  So,  also,  there  might 
be  a  serviceable  power  in  novels  to  bring  before  us 
in  vividness  a  human  truth  which  we  had  before 
dimly  conceived  ;  but  the  temptation  to  picturesque- 
ness  of  statement  is  so  great  that  often  the  best 
writers  of  fiction  cannot  resist  it ;  and  our  views 
are  rendered  so  violent  and  one-sided  that  their 
vitality  is  rather  a  harm  than  a  good. 

78.  Without,  however,  venturing  here  on  any 
attempt  at  decision  how  much  novel  reading  should 
be  allowed,  let  me  at  least  clearly  assert  this,  that 
whether  novels  or  poetry  or  history  be  read,  they 
should  be  chosen,  not  for  their  freedom  from  evil, 
but  for  their  possession  of  good.  The  chance  and 
scattered  evil  that  may  here  and  there  haunt,  or 
hide  itself  in,  a  powerful  book,  never  does  any 
harm  to  a  noble  girl ;  but  the  emptiness  of  an 
author  oppresses  her,  and  his  amiable  folly  de- 
grades her.  And  if  she  can  have  access  to  a  good 
library  of  old  and  classical  books,  there  need  be 
no  choosing  at  all.  Keep  the  modern  magazine 


148  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

and  novel  O..L  of  your  girl's  way  ;  turn  her  loose 
into  the  oKl  library  every  day,  and  let  her  alone. 
She  will  find  what  is  good  for  her  ;  you  cannot ; 
for  there  is  just  this  difference  between  the  making 
of  a  girl's  character  and  a  boy's  :  you  may  chisel 
a  boy  into  shape,  as  you  would  a  rock,  or  hammer 
him  into  it,  if  he  be  of  a  better  kind,  as  you  would 
a  piece  of  bronze ;  but  you  cannot  hammer  &  girl 
into  anything.  She  grows  as  a  flower  does, — she 
will  wither  without  sun;  she  will  decay  in  her 
sheath  as  a  narcissus  will  if  you  do  not  give  her 
air  enough ;  she  may  fall  and  defile  her  head  in 
dust  if  you  leave  her  without  help  at  some  moments 
of  her  life,  but  you  cannot  fetter  her;  she  must 
take  her  own  fair  form  and  way  if  she  take  any, 
id  in  mind  as  in  body,  must  have  always — 

"  Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty." 

Let  her  loose  in  the  library,  I  say,  as  you  do  a 
fawn  in  the  field.  It  knows  the  bad  weeds  twenty 
rimes  better  than  you,  and  the  good  ones  too,  and 
will  eat  some  bitter  and  prickly  ones  good  for  it 
viiich  you  had  not  the  slightest  thought  would 
:uve  been  so. 

79.  Then   in  art,  keep  the  finest  models  before 
her,  and  let  her  practise ;  in  all  accomplishments 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  149 


be  accurate  and  thorough,  so  as  to  enable  her  to 
understand  more  than  she  accomplishes.  I  say 
the  finest  models — that  is  to  say,  the  truest, 
simplest,  usefullest.  Note  those  epithets ;  they 
will  range  through  all  the  arts.  Try  them  in 
music,  where  you  might  think  them  the  least  ap- 
plicable. I  say  the  truest,  that  in  which  the  notes 
most  closely  and  faithfully  express  the  meaning  of 
the  words,  or  the  character  of  intended  emotion ; 
again,  the  simplest,  that  in  which  the  meaning  and 
melody  are  attained  with  the  fewest  and  most  sig- 
nificant notes  possible ;  and  finally,  the  usefullest, 
that  music  which  makes  the  best  words  most  beau- 
tiful, which  enchants  them  in  our  memories  each 
with  its  own  glory  of  sound,  and  which  applies 
them  closest  to  the  heart  at  the  moment  we  need 
them. 

80.  And  not  only  in  the  material  and  in  the 
course,  but  yet  more  earnestly  in  the  spirit  of  it, 
let  a  girl's  education  be  as  serious  as  a  boy's. 
You  bring  up  your  girls  as  if  they  were  meant  for 
sideboard  ornaments,  and  then  complain  of  their 
frivolity.  Give  them  the  same  advantages  that  you 
give  their  brothers ;  appeal  to  the  same  grand 
instincts  of  virtue  in  them  ;  teach  them,  also,  that 
courage  and  truth  are  the  pillars  of  their  being. 
Do  you  think  that  they  would  not  answer  that 


150  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

appeal,  brave  and  true  as  they  are  even  now,  when 
you  know  that  there  is  hardly  a  girls'  school  in  this 
Christian  kingdom  where  the  children's  courage 
or  sincerity  would  be  thought  of  half  so  much  im- 
portance as  their  way  of  coming  in  at  a  door  ;  and 
when  the  whole  system  of  society,  as  respects  the 
mode  of  establishing  them  in  life,  is  one  rotten 
plague  of  cowardice  and  imposture — cowardice,  in 
not  daring  to  let  them  live  or  love  except  as  their 
neighbors  choose ;  and  imposture,  in  bringing,  for 
the  purposes  of  our  own  pride,  the  full  glow  of  the 
world's  worst  vanity  upon  a  girl's  eyes,  at  the  very 
period  when  the  whole  happiness  of  her  future 
existence  depends  upon  her  remaining  undazzled  ? 
81.  And  give  them,  lastly,  not  only  noble  teach- 
ings, but  noble  teachers.  You  consider  somewhat, 
before  you  send  your  boy  to  school,  what  kind  of 
a  man  the  master  is.  Whatsoever  kind  of  a  man 
he  is  you  at  least  give  him  full  authority  over  youi 
son,  and  show  some  respect  to  him  yourself;  if  he 
comes  to  dine  with  you,  you  do  not  put  him  at  a 
side  table ;  you  know,  also,  that  at  college  your 
child's  immediate  tutor  will  be  under  the  direc- 
tion of  some  still  higher  tutor,  for  whom  you  have 
absolute  reverence.  You  do  not  treat  the  Dean  of 
Christ  Church  or  the  Master  of  Trinity  as  your 
inferiors. 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  151 

But  what  teachers  do  you  give  your  girls,  and 
what  reverence  do  you  show  to  the  teachers  you 
have  chosen  ?  Is  a  girl  likely  to  think  her  own  con- 
duct or  her  own  intellect  of  much  importance 
when  you  trust  the  entire  formation  of  her  char- 
acter, moral  and  intellectual,  to  a  person  whom  you 
let  your  servants  treat  with  less  respect  than  they 
do  your  housekeeper  (as  if  the  soul  of  your  child 
were  a  less  charge  than  jams  and  groceries),  and 
whom  you  yourself  think  you  confer  an  honor  upon 
by  letting  her  sometimes  sit  in  the  drawing-room  in 
the  evening  ? 

82.  Thus,  then,  of  literature  as  her  help  and 
thus  of  art.  There  is  one  more  help  which  she 
cannot  do  without, — one  which  alone  has  some- 
times done  more  than  all  other  influences  besides, 
— the  help  of  wild  and  fair  Nature.  Hear  this  of 
the  education  of  Joan  of  Arc: — 

"  The  education  of  this  poor  girl  was  mean  according  to  the 
present  standard ;  was  ineffably  grand  according  to  a  purer 
philosophic  standard ;  and  only  not  good  for  our  age  because 
for  us  it  would  be  unattainable.  .  .  . 

"  Next  after  her  spiritual  advantages  she  owed  most  to 
the  advantages  of  her  situation.  The  fountain  of  Domremy 
was  on  the  brink  of  a  boundless  forest;  and  it  was  haunted 
to  that  degree  by  fairies  that  the  parish  priest  (curi)  was 
obliged  to  read  mass  there  once  a  year  in  order  to  keep  them 
in  decent  bounds,  .  .  . 


152  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

"  But  the  forests  of  Domremy — those  were  the  glories  of 
the  land ;  for  in  them  abode  mysterious  powers  and  ancient 
secrets  that  towered  into  tragic  strength.  Abbeys  there 
were,  and  abbey  windows — 'like  Moorish  temples  of  the 
Hindoos ' — that  exercised  even  princely  power  both  in 
Touraine  and  in  the  German  Diets.  These  had  their  sweet 
bells  that  pierced  the  forests  for  many  a  league  at  matins  or 
vespers,  and  each  its  own  dreamy  legend.  Few  enough,  and 
scattered  enough,  were  these  abbeys,  so  as  in  no  degree  to 
disturb  the  deep  solitude  of  the  region ;  yet  many  enough  to 
spread  a  network  or  awning  of  Christian  sanctity  over  what 
else  might  have  seemed  a  heathen  wilderness."1 

Now,  you  cannot,  indeed,  have  here  in  England 
woods  eighteen  miles  deep  to  the  centre ;  but  you 
can,  perhaps,  keep  a  fairy  or  two  for  your  children 
yet  if  you  wish  te  keep  them.  But  do  you  wish 
it?  Suppose  you  had  each,  at  the  back  of  your 
houses,  a  garden  large  enough  for  your  children  to 
play  in,  with  just  as  much  lawn  as  would  give  them 
room  to  run, — no  more, — and  that  you  could  not 
change  your  abode;  but  that,  if  you  chose,  you 
could  double  your  income  or  quadruple  it  by  dig- 
ging a  coal  shaft  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  and 
turning  the  flowerbeds  into  heaps  of  coke.  Would 
you  do  it  ?  I  hope  not.  I  can  tell  you  you  would 

1  "Joan  of  Arc  :  in  reference  to  M.  Michelet's  '  History  of 
France'"  (De  Quincey's  Works,  vol.  iii.,  p.  217). 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  153 

be  wrong  if  you  did,  though  it  gave  you  income 
sixty-fold  instead  of  four-fold. 

83.  Yet  this  is  what  you  are  doing  with  all 
England.     The  whole  county  is  but  a  little  garden, 
not  more  than  enough  for  your  children  to  run  on 
the  lawns  of  if  you  would  let  them  all  run  there. 
And  this  little  garden  you  will  turn  into  furnace 
ground,  and  fill  with  heaps  of  cinders  if  you  can; 
and  those  children  of  yours,  not  you,  will  suffer  for  it. 
For  the  fairies  will  not  be  all  banished ;  there  are 
fairies  of  the  furnace  as  of  the  wood,  and  their 
first    gift    seems    to    be    "sharp   arrows   of  the 
mighty;"     but    their    last   gifts   are    "coals   of 
juniper." 

84.  And  yet  I  cannot — though  there  is  no  part 
of  my  subject  that  I  feel  more — press  this  upon 
you ;  for  we  made  so  little  use  of  the  power  of  Na- 
ture while  we  had  it  that  we  shall  hardly  feel  what 
we  have  lost.     Just  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mer- 
sey   you   have  your   Snowdon   and   your   Menai 
Straits  and  that  mighty  granite  rock  beyond  the 
-loors  of  Anglesea,  splendid  in  its  heathery  crest, 
and  foot  planted  in  the  deep  sea,  once  thought  of 
as   sacred, — a  divine   promontory,  looking   west- 
ward ;  the  Holyhead,  or  Headland,  still  not  with- 
out awe  when  its  red  light  glares  first  through  storm. 
These  are  the  hills,  and  these  the  bays  and  blue 


154  SESAME   AND   LLLiES. 

inlets  which,  among  the  Greeks,  would  have  been 
always  loved,  always  fateful  in  influence  on  ihe 
national  mind.  That  Snowdon  is  your  Parnassus, 
but  where  are  its  Muses?  That  Holyhead  moun 
tain  is  your  island  of  JEgina.;  but  where  is  its 
Temple  to  Minerva  ? 

85.  Shall  I  read  you  what  the  Christian  Minerva 
had  achieved  under  the  shadow  of  our  Parnassus 
up  to  the  year  1848?  Here  is  a  little  account  of 
a  Welsh  school,  from  page  261  of  the  Report  on 
Wales,  published  by  the  Committee  of  Council  on 
Education.  This  is  a  school  close  to  a  town  con- 
taining 5,000  persons  : — 

"  I  then  called  up  a  larger  class,  most  of  whom  had  re- 
cently come  to  the  school.  Three  girls  repeatedly  declared 
they  had  never  heard  of  Christ,  and  two  that  they  had 
never  heard  of  God.  Two  out  of  six  thought  Christ  was 
on  earth  now  [  they  might  have  had  a  worse  thought  per- 
haps], three  knew  nothing  about  the  Crucifixion.  Four  out 
of  seven  did  not  know  the  names  of  the  months  nor  the 
number  of  clays  in  a  year.  They  had  no  notion  of  addition ; 
beyond  two  and  two  or  fhree  and  three  their  minds  were 
perfect  blanks." 

O  ye  women  of  England  !  from  the  Princess  of 
that  Wales  to  the  simplest  of  you,  do  not  think 
your  own  children  can  be  brought  into  their  true 
fold  of  rest  while  these  are  scattered  on  the  hills  as 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  155 

sheep  having  no  shepherd.  And  do  not  think 
your  daughters  can  be  trained  to  the  truth  of  their 
own  human  beauty  while  the  pleasant  places  which 
God  made  at  once  for  their  school-room  and  their 
play-ground  lie  desolate  and  defiled.  You  cannot 
baptize  them  rightly  in  those  inch-deep  fonts  of 
yours  unless  you  baptize  them  also  in  the  sweet 
waters  which  the  great  Lawgiver  strikes  forth  for- 
ever from  the  rocks  cf  your  native  land, — waters 
which  a  Pagan  would  have  worshipped  in  their  pu- 
rity, and  you  worship  only  with  pollution.  You 
cannot  lead  your  children  faithfully  to  those  nar- 
row axe-hewn  church-altars  of  yours  while  the 
dark  azure  altars  in  heaven — the  mountains  that 
sustain  your  island  throne,  mountains  on  which  a 
Pagan  would  have  seen  the  powers  of  heaven  rest 
in  every  wreathed  cloud — remain  for  you  without 
inscription ;  altars  built,  not  to,  but  by,  an  Un- 
known God. 

86.  Thus  far,  then,  of  the  nature,  thus  far  of 
the  teaching,  of  woman,  and  thus  of  her  house- 
hold office,  and  queenliness  We  come  now  to 
our  last,  our  widest  question, — What  is  her  queenly 
office  with  respect  to  the  State  ? 

Generally,  we  are  under  an  impression  that  a 
man's  duties  are  public,  and  a  woman's  private. 
But  this  is  not  altogether  so.  A  man  has  a  per- 


156  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

sonal  work  or  duty,  relating  to  his  own  home,  and 
a  public  work  or  duty,  which  is  the  expansion  of 
the  other,  relating  to  the  State.  So  a  woman  has 
a  personal  work  or  duty,  relating  to  her  own  home, 
and  a  public  work  and  duty,  which  is  also  the  ex- 
pansion of  that. 

Now,  the  man's  work  for  his  own  home  is,  as 
has  been  said,  to  secure  its  maintenance,  progress, 
and  defence;  the  woman's  to  secure  its  order, 
comfort,  and  loveliness. 

Expand  both  these  functions.  The  man's  duty, 
as  a  member  of  a  commonwealth,  is  to  assist  in 
the  maintenance,  in  the  advance,  in  the  defence 
of  the  State.  The  woman's  duty,  as  a  member  of 
the  commonwealth,  is  to  assist  in  the  ordering,  in 
the  comforting,  and  in  the  beautiful  adornment  of 
the  State. 

What  the  man  is  at  his  own  gate,  defending  it, 
if  need  be,  against  insult  and  spoil,  that  also,  not 
in  a  less,  but  in  a  more  devoted  measure,  he  is  to 
be  at  the  gate  of  his  country,  leaving  his  home,  if 
need  be,  even  to  the  spoiler,  to  do  his  more  incum- 
bent work  there. 

And,  in  like  manner,  what  the  woman  is  to  be 
within  her  gates,  as  the  centre  of  order,  the  balm 
of  distress,  and  the  mirror  of  beauty,  that  she  is 
also  to  be  without  her  gates,  where  order  is  more 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  157 

difficult,  distress  more  imminent,  loveliness  more 
rare. 

And  as  within  the  human  heart  there  is  always 
set  an  instinct  for  all  its  real  duties, — an  instinct 
which  you  cannot  quench,  but  only  warp  and  cor- 
rupt if  you  withdraw  it  from  its  true  purpose  ;  as 
there  is  the  intense  instinct  of  love,  which  rightly 
disciplined  maintains  all  the  sanctities  of  life,  and 
misdirected  undermines  them,  and  must  do  either 
the  one  or  the  other,  so  there  is  in  the  human 
heart  an  inextinguishable  instinct, — the  love  of 
power,  which  rightly  directed  maintains  all  the 
majesty  of  law  and  life,  and  misdirected  wrecks 
them. 

87.  Deep  rooted  in  the  innermost  life  of  the 
heart  of  man,  and  of  the  heart  of  woman,  God  set 
it  there,  and  God  keeps  it  there.  Vainly,  as 
falsely,  you  blame  or  rebuke  the  desire  of  power  ! 
For  Heaven's  sake,  and  for  Man's  sake,  desire  it 
all  you  can.  But  what  power?  That  is  all  the 
question.  Power  to  destroy, — the  lion's  limb,  and 
the  dragon's  breath  ?  Not  so.  Power  to  heal,  to 
redeem,  to  guide,  and  to  guard ;  power  of  the 
sceptre  and  shield  ;  the  power  of  the  royal  hand 
that  heals  in  touching,  that  binds  the  fiend,  and 
looses  the  captive  ;  the  throne  that  is  founded  on 
the  rock  of  justice,  and  descended  from  only  by 


158  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

steps  of  mercy.  Will  you  not  covet  such  power  as 
this,  and  seek  such  throne  as  this,  and  be  no  more 
housewives,  but  queens  ? 

88.  It  is  now  long  since  the  women  of  England 
arrogated,  universally,  a  title  which  once  belonged 
to  nobility  only ;  and  having  once  been  in  the 
habit  of  accepting  the  simple  title  of  "gentle- 
woman," as  correspondent  to  that  of  "  gentle- 
man," insisted  on  the  privilege  of  assuming  the 
title  of  "  lady,"1  which  properly  corresponds  only 
to  the  title  of  "lord." 

I  do  not  blame  them  for  this,  but  only  for  their 
narrow  motive  in  this.  I  would  have  them  desire 
and  claim  the  title  of  "lady"  provided  they 
claim  not  merely  the  title,  but  the  office  and  duty 
signified  by  it.  "Lady"  means  "bread -giver" 
or  "  loaf -giver,"  and  "lord  "means  "maintainer 
of  laws;  "  and  both  titles  have  reference,  not  to 

>  I  wish  there  were  a  true  order  of  chivalry  instituted  for 
our  English  youth  of  certain  ranks,  in  which  both  boy  and 
girl  should  receive,  at  a  given  age,  their  knighthood  and 
ladyhood  by  true  title ;  attainable  only  by  certain  probation 
and  trial  both  of  character  and  accomplishment ;  and  to  be 
forfeited  on  conviction  by  their  peers  of  any  dishonorable 
act.  i-uch  an  institution  would  be  entirely,  and  with  all 
noble  results,  possible  in  a  nation  which  loved  honor. 
That  '*  would  not  be  possible  among  us  is  not  to  the  dis* 
credit  of  the  scheme. 


OF  QUEENS'  GABDENS.  169 

the  law  which  is  maintained  in  the  house,  nor  to 
the  bread  which  is  given  to  the  household,  but  to 
law  maintained  for  the  multitude,  and  to  bread 
broken  among  the  multitude.  So  that  a  Lord  has 
legal  claim  only  to  his  title  in  so  far  as  he  is  the 
maintainer  of  the  justice  of  the  Lord  of  Lords; 
and  a  Lady  has  legal  claim  to  her  title  only  so  far 
as  she  communicates  that  help  to  the  poor  repre- 
sentatives of  her  Master,  which  women  once,  min- 
istering to  Him  of  their  substance,  were  permitted 
to  extend  to  that  Master  Himself;  and  wher  she 
is  known,  as  He  Himself  once  was,  in  breaking  of 
bread. 

89.  And  this  beneficent  and  legal  dominion, 
this  power  of  the  dominus,  or  House-Lord,  and  of 
the  domina,  or  House-Lady,  is  great  and  vener- 
able, not  in  the  number  of  those  through  whom  it 
has  lineally  descended,  but  in  the  number  of  those 
whom  it  grasps  within  its  sway ;  it  is  always  re- 
garded with  reverent  worship  wherever  its  dynasty 
is  founded  on  its  duty,  and  its  ambition  correlative 
with  its  beneficence.  Your  fancy  is  pleased  with 
the  thought  of  being  noble  ladies,  with  a  train  of 
vassals  ?  Be  it  so  ;  you  cannot  be  too  noble,  and 
your  train  cannot  be  too  great;  but  see  to  it  that 
your  train  is  of  vassals  whom  you  serve  and  feed, 
not  merely  of  slaves  who  serve  and  feed  you  ;  and 


160  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

that  the  multitude  which  obeys  you  is  of  those 
whom  you  have  comforted,  not  oppressed, — whom 
you  have  redeemed,  and  led  into  captivity. 

90.  And  this,   which  is  true  of  the   lower   or 
household  dominion,  is  equally  true  of  the  queenly 
dominion  ;  that  highest  dignity  is  open  to  you  if 
you  will  also  accept  that  highest  duty.     Rex  et 
rcgina — rot  et  rdne — "  right-doers  ;  "  they  differ 
but  from  the  Lady  and  Lord  in  that  their  power  is 
supreme  over  the  mind  as  over  the  person ;  that 
they  not  only  feed  and  clothe,    but  direct   and 
teach.     And   whether  consciously  or  not  you  must 
be  in  many  a  heart  enthroned.     There  is  no  put- 
ting by  that  crown;  queens  you  must  always  be, 
— queens  to  your  lovers ;  queens  to  your  husbands 
and  your  sens ;  queens  of  higher  mystery  to  the 
world  beyond,  which  bows  itself,  and  will  forever 
bow,  before  the  myrtle  crown  and  the  stainless 
sceptre  of  womanhood.     But,   alas  !  you  are  too 
often  idle  and  careless  queens,  grasping  at  majesty 
in  the  least  things,  while  you  abdicate  it  in  the 
greatest ;    and   leaving   misrule   and   violence   to 
work  their  will  among  men,   in   defiance  of  the 
power  which,   holding  straight  in  gift   from   the 
Prince  of  all  Peace,  the  wicked  among  you  betray 
and  the  good  forget. 

91.  "Prince   of    Peace."       Note   that   name 


Sesame  and  Lilies   4 


HOMER 


OP  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  161 

When  kings  rule  in  that  name,  and  nobles,  and 
the  judges  of  the  earth,  they  also  in  their  narrow 
place  and  mortal  measure  receive  the  power  of  it. 
There  are  no  other  rulers  than  they;  other  rule 
than  theirs  is  but  misrule ;  they  who  govern  verily 
"  Dei  Gratia"  are  all  princes,  yes,  or  princesses, 
of  peace.  There  is  not  a  war  in  the  world,  no, 
nor  an  injustice,  but  you  women  are  answerable 
for  it;  not  in  that  you  have  provoked,  but  in  that 
you  have  not  hindered.  Men  by  their  nature  are 
prone  to  fight;  they  will  fight  for  any  cause,  or  for 
none.  It  is  for  you  to  choose  their  cause  for  them, 
and  to  forbid  them  when  there  is  no  cause.  There 
is  no  suffering,  no  injustice,  no  misery  in  the  earth, 
but  the  guilt  of  it  lies  with  you.  Men  can  bear 
the  sight  of  it,  but  you  should  not  be  able  to  bear 
it.  Men  may  tread  it  down  without  sympathy,  in 
their  own  struggle ;  but  men  are  feeble  in  sympa- 
thy and  contracted  in  hope :  it  is  you  only  who 
can  feel  the  depths  of  pain,  and  conceive  the  way 
of  its  healing.  Instead  of  trying  to  do  this,  you 
turn  away  from  it;  you  shut  yourselves  within 
your  park  walls  and  garden  gates ;  and  you  are 
content  to  know  that  there  is  beyond  them  a  whole 
world  in  wilderness — a  world  of  secrets  which  you 
dare  not  penetrate,  and  of  suffering  which  you 
dare  not  conceive. 
11 


162  »ESAME  AND  LILIES. 

92.  I  tell  you  that  this  is  to  me  quite  the  most 
amazing  among  the  phenomena  of  humanity.  I 
am  surprised  at  no  depths  to  which,  when  once 
warped  from  its  honor,  that  humanity  can  be  de- 
graded. I  do  not  wonder  at  the  miser's  death, 
with  his  hands,  as  they  relax,  dropping  gold.  I 
do  not  wonder  at  the  sensualist's  life,  with  the 
shroud  wrapped  about  his  feet.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  the  single-handed  murder  of  a  single  victim, 
done  by  the  assassin  in  the  darkness  of  the  rail- 
way or  reed-shadow  of  the  marsh.  I  do  not  even 
wonder  at  the  myriad-handed  murder  of  multi- 
tudes, done  boastfully  in  the  daylight  by  the  frenzy 
of  nations,  and  the  immeasurable,  unimagin- 
able guilt,  heaped  up  from  hell  to  heaven,  of  their 
priests  and  kings.  But  this  is  wonderful  to  me — 
oh,  how  wonderful ! — to  see  the  tender  and  deli- 
cate woman  among  you,  with  her  child  at  her 
breast,  and  a  power,  if  she  would  wield  it,  over  it 
and  over  its  father,  purer  than  the  air  of  heaven 
and  stronger  than  the  seas  of  earth, — nay,  a  mag- 
nitude of  blessing  which  her  husband  would  not 
part  with  for  all  that  earth  itself,  though  it  were  made 
of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite, — to  see  her 
abdicate  this  majesty  to  play  at  precedence  with 
>or  next-door  neighbor  !  This  is  wonderful — oh. 
vonderful ! — to  see  her,  with  every  innocent  feel- 


OF  QUEENS'  GAKDENS.  163 

ing  fresh  within  her,  go  out  in  the  morning  into 
her  garden  to  play  with  the  fringes  of  its  guarded 
flowers,  and  lift  their  heads  when  they  are  droop- 
ing, with  her  happy  smile  upon  her  face  and  no 
cloud  upon  her  brow,  because  there  is  a  little  wall 
around  her  place  of  peace  ;  and  yet  she  knows  in 
her  heart,  if  she  would  only  look  for  its  knowl- 
edge, that  outside  of  that  little  rose-covered  wall, 
the  wild  grass,  to  the  horizon,  is  torn  up  by  the 
agony  of  men,  and  beat  level  by  the  drift  of  their 
life-blood. 

93.  Have  you  ever  considered  what  a  deep  un- 
der-meaning there  lies,  or  at  least  may  be  read,  if 
we  choose,  in  our  custom  of  strewing  flowers  be- 
fore those  whom  we  think  most  happy  ?  Do  you 
suppose  it  is  merely  to  deceive  them  into  the  hope 
that  happiness  is  always  to  fall  thus  in  showers  at 
their  feet ;  that  whenever  they  pass  they  will  tread 
on  herbs  of  sweet  scent,  and  that  the  rough  ground 
will  be  made  smooth  for  them  by  depth  of  roses  ? 
So  surely  as  they  believe  that,  they  will  have,  in- 
stead, to  \valk  on  bitter  herbs  and  thorns;  and  the 
only  softness  to  their  feet  will  be  of  snow.  But  it 
is  not  thus  intended  they  should  believe  ;  there  is 
a  better  meaning  in  that  old  custom.  The  path  of 
a  good  woman  is  indeed  strewn  with  flowers;  but 
they  rise  behind  her  steps,  not  before  them.  "  Her 


164  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

feet  have  touched  the  meadows,  and  left  the  dais- 
ies rosy." 

94.  You  think  that  only  a  lover's  fancy;  false 
and  vain  !  How  if  it  could  be  true?  You  think 
uiis  also,  perhaps,  only  a  poet's  fancy — 

"  Even  the  light  harebell  raised  its  head 
Elastic  from  her  airy  tread." 

But  it  is  little  to  say  of  a  woman,  that  she  only 
does  not  destroy  where  she  passes.  She  should  re- 
vive; the  harebells  should  bloom,  not  stoop,  as 
she  passes.  You  think  I  am  rushing  into  wild  hy- 
perbole ?  Pardon  me,  not  a  whit ;  I  mean  what  I 
say  in  calm  English,  spoken  in  resolute  truth.  You 
have  heard  it  said  (and  I  believe  there  is  more 
than  fancy  even  in  that  saying,  but  let  it  pass  for 
a  fanciful  one)  that  flowers  only  flourish  rightly  in 
^he  garden  of  some  one  who  loves  them.  I  know 
you  would  like  that  to  be  true ;  you  would  think 
it  a  pleasant  magic  if  you  could  flush  your  flowers 
into  brighter  bloom  by  a  kind  look  upon  them  ; 
nay,  more,  if  your  look  had  the  power,  not  only 
to  cheer,  but  to  guard  ;  if  you  could  bid  the  black 
blight  turn  away,  and  the  knotted  caterpillar  spare ; 
if  you  could  bid  the  dew  fall  upon  them  in  the 
drought,  and  say  to  the  south  wind,  in  frost, 


OP  QUEENS'  GAKDENS.  1C5 

"Come,  thou  south,  and  breathe  upon  my  garden, 
that  the  spices  of  it  may  flow  out."  This  you 
would  think  a  great  thing.  And  do  you  think  it 
not  a  greater  thing  that  all  this  (and  how  m-.ich 
more  than  this  !)  you  can  do  for  fairer  flowers  than 
these;  flowers  that  could  bless  you  for  having 
blessed  them,  and  will  love  you  for  having  loved 
them ;  flowers  that  have  thoughts  like  yours  and 
lives  like  yours,  and  which,  once  saved,  you  save 
forever?  Is  this  only  a  little  power?  Far  among 
the  moorlands  and  the  rocks,  far  in  the  darkness  of 
the  terrible  streets,  these  feeble  florets  are  lying 
with  all  their  fresh  leaves  torn  and  their  stems  brn 
ken.  Will  you  never  go  down  to  them  nor  set 
them  in  order  in  their  little  fragrant  beds,  nor 
fence  them,  in  their  trembling,  from  the  fierce 
wind?  Shall  morning  follow  morning  for  you, 
but  not  for  them ;  and  the  dawn  rise  to  watch,  far 
away,  those  frantic  dances  of  death,1  but  no  dawn 
rise  to  breathe  upon  these  living  banks  of  wild 
violet  and  woodbine  and  rose ;  nor  call  to  you 
through  your  casement, — call  (not  giving  you  the 
name  of  the  English  poet's  lady,  but  the  name  of 
Dante's  great  Matilda,  who,  on  the  edge  of  happy 
Lethe,  stood,  wreathing  flowers  with  flowers),  say- 
ing,— 

i  See  note,  p.  92. 


166  SESAME  A.ND   LILIES. 

"  Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

For  the  black  bat  night  has  flown, 
And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad, 
And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown  "  ? 

Will  you  not  go  down  among  them, — among 
those  sweet  living  things,  whose  new  courage,  sprung 
from  the  earth  with  the  deep  color  of  heaven  upon 
it,  is  starting  up  in  strength  of  goodly  spire;  and 
whose  purity,  washed  from  the  dust,  is  opening, 
bud  by  bud,  into  the  flower  of  promise?  And  still 
they  turn  to  you,  and  for  you  ' '  The  Larkspur 
listens — I  hear,  I  hear!  And  the  Lily  whispers — I 
wait." 

95 .  Did  you  notice  that  I  missed  two  lines  when 
I  read  you  that  first  stanza,  and  think  thai  I  had  for- 
gotten them?  Hear  them  now:  — 

"  Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

For  the  black  bat  night  has  flown. 
Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 
I  am  here  at  the  gate,  alone." 

Who  is  it,  think  you,  who  stands  at  the  gate  of  this 
sweeter  garden  alone,  waiting  for  you  ?  Did  you  ever 
hear,  not  of  a  Maud,  but  a  Madeleine,  who  went 
down  to  her  garden  in  the  dawn  and  found  One  wait- 
•  •TST  at  the  gate  whom  she  supposed  to  be  the  gar- 
dener? Have  you  not  sought  Him  often;  sought 


OF  QUEENS'  GARDENS.  167 

Him  in  vain  all  through  the  night;  sought  Him  in 
vain  at  the  gate  of  that  old  garden  where  the  fiery 
sword  is  set  ?  He  is  never  there  j  but  at  the  gate 
of  this  garden  He  is  waiting  always — waiting  to 
take  your  hand — ready  to  go  down  to  see  the  fruits 
of  the  valley,  to  see  whether  the  vine  has  flourished 
and  the  pomegranate  budded.  There  you  shall  see 
with  Him  the  little  tendrils  of  the  vines  that  His 
hand  is  guiding;  there  you  shall  see  the  pomegran- 
ate springing  where  His  hand  cast  the  sanguine  seed ; 
more :  you  shall  see  the  troops  of  the  angel  keepers 
that,  with  their  wings,  wave  away  the  hungry  birds 
from  the  pathsides  where  He  has  sown,  and  call  to 
each  other  between  the  vineyard  rows,  ' '  Take  us 
the  foxes,  the  little  foxes  that  spoil  the  vines,  for 
cur  vines  have  tender  grapes."  Oh,  you  queens, 
you  queens !  among  the  hills  and  happy  greenwood 
of  this  land  of  yours,  shall  the  foxes  have  holes, 
and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  and  in  your 
cities  shall  the  stones  cry  out  against  you,  that 
they  are  the  only  pillows  where  the  Son  of  Man 
can  lay  His  head? 


m. 


<W  tfc 


of  Ctfe, 


LECTURE  HI. 
Stye  Ulnsterp  of  £ife  anft  its 

Lecture  delivered  in  the  theatre  of  the  Royal  College  of 
Science,  Dublin,  1868. 

96.  A I J  HEN  I  accepted  the  privilege  of  address- 
*  *  ing  you  to-day,  I  was  not  aware  of  a 
restriction  with  respect  to  the  topics  of  discussion 
which  may  be  brought  before  this  Society,1 — a 
restriction  which,  though  entirely  wise  and  right 
under  the  circumstances  contemplated  in  its  intro- 
duction, would  necessarily  have  disabled  me, 
thinking  as  I  think,  from  preparing  any  lecture 
for  you  on  the  subject  of  art  in  a  form  which 
might  be  permanently  useful.  Pardon  me,  there- 
fore, in  so  far  as  I  must  transgress  such  limitation ; 
for  indeed  my  infringment  will  be  of  the  letter — 
not  of  the  spirit  —  of  your  commands.  In  what- 
ever I  may  say  touching  the  religion  which  has 
been  the  foundation  of  art,  or  the  policy  which  has 

1  That  no   reference   should   be   made   to  religious  ques- 
tions. 

(171) 


172  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

contributed  to  its  power,  if  I  offend  one  I  shall  offend 
all ;  for  I  shall  take  no  note  of  any  separations  in 
creeds,or  antagonisms  in  parties  ;  neither  do  I  fear 
that  ultimately  I  shall  offend  any  by  proving,  or  at 
least  stating  as  capable  of  positive  proof,  the  con- 
nection of  all  that  is  best  in  the  crafts  and  arts  of 
man,  with  the  simplicity  of  his  faith  and  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  patriotism. 

97.  But  I  speak  to  you  under  another  disadva^ 
tage,  by  which  I  am  checked  in  frankness  of  utte. 
ance,  not  here  only,  but  everywhere ;  namely,  that 
I  am  never  fully  aware  how  far  my  audiences  are 
disposed  to  give  me  credit  for  real  knowledge  of  my 
subject,  or  how  far  they  grant  me  attention  only  be- 
cause I  have  been  sometimes  thought  an  ingenious 
or  pleasant  essayist  upon  it.  For  I  have  had  what, 
in  many  respects,  I  boldly  call  the  misfortune,  to 
set  my  words  sometimes  prettily  together ;  not  with- 
out a  foolish  vanity  in  the  poor  knack  that  I  had  of 
doing  so,  until  I  was  heavily  punished  for  this  pride, 
by  finding  that  many  people  thought  of  the  words 
only,  and  cared  nothing  for  their  meaning.  Hap- 
pily, therefore,  the  power  of  using  such  pleasant 
language  —  if  indeed  it  ever  were  mine  —  is  pass- 
ing away  frr-m  me  ;  and  whatever  I  am  now  able  to 
say  at  all,  i  find  myself  forced  to  say  with  great 
plainness.  For  my  thoughts  have  changed  also,  as 


OF  THE  MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  173 

my  words  have  ;  and  whereas  in  earlier  life  what 
little  influence  I  obtained  was  due  perhaps  chiefly 
to  the  enthusiasm  with  which  I  was  able  to  dwell 
on  the  beauty  of  the  phys  'al  clouds,  and  of  their 
colors  in  the  sky;  so  all  the  influence  I  now  desire 
\.o  retain  must  be  due  to  the  earnestness  with  which 
I  am  endeavoring  to  trace  the  form  and  beauty  of 
another  kind  of  cloud  than  those,  —  the  bright 
cloud  of  which  it  is  written,  — 

"  What  is  your  life?  It  is  even  as  a  vapor  that 
appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and  then  vanisheth 
away." 

98.  I  suppose  few  people  reach  the  middle  or 
latter  period  of  their  age,  without  having,  at  some 
moment  of  change  or  disappointment,  felt  the 
truth  of  those  bitter  words,  and  been  startled  by 
the  fading  of  the  sunshine  from  the  cloud  of  their 
life,  into  the  sudden  agony  of  the  knowledge  that 
the  fabric  of  it  was  as  fragile  as  a  dream,  and  the 
endurance  of  it  as  transient  as  the  dew.  But  it 
is  not  always  that,  even  at  such  times  of  melan- 
choly surprise,  we  can  enter  into  any  true  percep- 
:on  that  this  human  life  shares,  in  the  nature  of  it, 
not  only  the  evanescence,  but  the  mystery  of  the 
cloud  ;  that  its  avenues  are  wreathed  in  darkness, 
and  its  forms  and  courses  no  less  fantastic  than 
spectral  and  obscure;  so  that  not  only  in  the 


174  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

vanity  which  we  cannot  grasp,  but  in  the  shadow 
which  we  cannot  pierce,  it  is  true  of  this  cloudy 
life  of  ours,  that  ' '  man  walketh  in  a  vain  shadow, 
and  disquieteth  himself  in  vain." 

99.  And  least  of  all,  whatever  may  have  been 
the  eagerness  of  our  passions  or  the  height  of  oiu 
pride,  are  we  able  to  understand  in  its  depth  the 
third  and  most  solemn  character  in  which  our  life 
is  like  those  clouds  of  heaven  :  that  to  it  belongs 
not  only  their  transience,  not  only  their  mystery, 
but  also  their  power;  that  in  the  cloud  of  the 
human  soul  there  is  a  fire  stronger  than  the  light- 
ning and  a  grace  more  precious  than  the  rain ; 
and  that  though  of  the  good  and  evil  it  shall  one 
day  be  said  alike,  that  the  place  that  knew  them 
knows  them  no  more,  there  is  an  infinite  separa- 
tion between  those  whose  brief  presence  had  there 
been  a  blessing,  like  the  mist  of  Eden  that  went 
up  from  the  earth  to  water  the  garden,  and  those 
whose  place  knew  them  only  as  a  drifting  and 
changeful  shade,  of  whom  the  Heavenly  sentence 
is,   that  they  are   "wells  without  water;  clouds 
that  are  carried  with  a  tempest,  to  whom  the  mist 
of  darkness  is  reserved  forever." 

100.  To  those  among  us,   however,   who  have 
lived  long  enough  to  form  some  just  estimate  of 
the  rate  of  the  changes  which  are,  hour  by  hour  in 


OF   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  175 

accelerating  catastrophe,  manifesting  themselves  in 
the  laws,  the  arts,  and  the  creeds  of  men,  it  seems 
to  me,  that  now  at  least,  if  never  at  any  former 
time,  the  thoughts  of  the  true  nature  of  our  life, 
and  of  its  powers  and  responsibilities,  should  pre- 
sent themselves  with  absolute  sadness  and  stern- 
ness. 

And  although  I  know  that  this  feeling  is  much 
deepened  in  my  own  mind  by  disappointment, 
which  by  chance,  has  attended  the  greater  number 
of  my  cherished  purposes,  I  do  not  for  that  reason 
distrust  the  feeling  itself,  though  I  am  on  my  guard 
against  an  exaggerated  degree  of  it :  nay,  I  rather 
believe  that  in  periods  of  new  effort  and  violent 
change,  disappointment  is  a  wholesome  medicine ; 
and  that  in  the  secret  of  it,  as  in  the  twilight  so 
beloved  by  Titian,  we  may  see  the  colors  of  things 
with  deeper  truth  than  in  the  most  dazzling  sun- 
shine. And  because  these  truths  about  the  works 
of  men,  which  I  want  to  bring  to-day  before  you, 
are  most  of  them  sad  ones,  though  at  the  same 
time  helpful ;  and  because  also  I  believe  that  your 
kind  Irish  hearts  will  answer  more  gladly  to  the 
truthful  expression  of  a  personal  feeling,  than  to 
the  exposition  of  an  abstract  principle,  I  will  per- 
mit myself  so  much  unreserved  speaking  of  my 
u\vn  causes  of  regret,  as  may  enable  you  to  make 


176  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

just  allowance  for  what,  according  to  your  sympa- 
thies, you  will  call  either  the  bitterness  or  the  in- 
sight of  a  mind  which  has  surrendered  its  best 
hopes,  and  been  foiled  in  its  favorite  aims. 

101.  I  spent  the  ten  strongest  years  of  my  life 
(from  twenty  to  thirty)  in  endeavoring  to  show  the 
excellence  of  the  work  of  the  man  whom  I  believed, 
and  rightly  believed,  to  be  the  greatest  painter  of 
the  schools  of  England  since  Reynolds.  I  had 
then  perfect  faith  in  the  power  of  every  great  truth 
or  beauty  to  prevail  ultimately,  and  take  its  right 
place  in  usefulness  and  honor;  and  I  strove  to 
bring  the  painter's  work  into  this  due  place,  while 
the  painter  was  yet  alive.  But  he  knew,  better 
than  I,  the  uselessness  of  talking  about  what  peo- 
ple could  not  see  for  themselves.  He  always 
discouraged  me  scornfully,  even  when  he  thanked 
me ;  and  he  died  before  even  the  superficial  effect 
of  my  work  was  visible.  I  went  on,  however, 
thinking  I  could  at  least  be  of  use  to  the  public,  if 
not  to  him,  in  proving  his  power.  My  books  got 
talked  about  a  little.  The  prices  of  modern  pic- 
tures, generally,  rose ;  and  I  was  beginning  to 
take  some  pleasure  in  a  sense  of  gradual  victory, 
when,  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  an  opportunity 
of  perfect  trial  undeceived  me  at  once  and  forever. 
The  trustees  of  the  National  Gallery  commissioned 


OF  THE  MYSTERY   OP   LIFE.  177 


me  to  arrange  the  Turner  drawings  there,  and  per- 
mitted me  to  prepare  three  hundred  examples  of 
his  studies  from  Nature,  for  exhibition  at  Kensing- 
ton. At  Kensington  they  were,  and  are,  placed 
for  exhibition  ;  but  they  are  not  exhibited,  for  the 
room  in  which  they  hang  is  always  empty. 

102.  Well,  this  showed   me  at  once  that  these 
ten  years  of  my  life  had  been,  in  their  chief  pur- 
pose, lost.     For  that,  I  did  not  so  much  care;  I 
had  at  least  learned  my  own  business  thoroughly, 
and  should  be  able,  as  I  fondly  supposed,   after 
such  a  lesson,  now  to  use  my  knowledge  with  bet- 
ter effect.     But  what  I  did  care  for  was  the — to 
me   frightful — discovery,   that  the  most  splendid 
genius  in  the  arts  might  be  permitted  by  Provi. 
dence  to  labor  and  perish  uselessly ;  that  in  the 
very  fineness  of  it  there  might  be  something  ren- 
dering it  invisible  to  ordinary  eyes,  but  that  with 
this  strange  excellence  faults  might  be  mingled 
which  would  be  as  deadly  as  its  virtues  were  vain  ; 
that  the  glory  of  it  was  perishable  as  well  as  in- 
visible, and  the  gift  and  grace  of  it  might  be  to  us 
as  snow  in  summer,  and  as  rain  in  harvest. 

103.  That  was  the  first  mystery  of  life  to  me. 
But  while  my  best  energy  was  given  to  the  study 
of  painting,  I  had  put  collateral  effort,  more  pru- 
dent if  less  enthusiastic,  into  that  of  architecture; 

12 


178  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

and  in  this  I  could  not  complain  of  meeting  with 
no  sympathy.  Among  several  personal  reasons 
which  caused  me  to  desire  that  I  might  give  this 
my  closing  lecture  on  the  subject  of  art  here  in 
Ireland,  one  of  the  chief  was,  that  in  reading  it, 
[  should  stand  near  the  beautiful  building — the 
engineers'  school  of  your  college — which  was  the 
first  realization  I  had  the  joy  to  see,  of  the  princi- 
ples I  had,  until  then,  been  endeavoring  to  teach  ; 
but  which  alas,  is  now  to  me  no  more  than  the 
richly  canopied  monument  of  one  of  the  most 
earnest  souls  that  ever  gave  itself  to  the  arts,  and 
one  of  my  truest  and  most  loving  friends,  Benja- 
min Woodward.  Nor  was  it  here  in  Ireland  only 
that  I  received  the  help  of  Irish  sympathy  and 
genius.  When  to  another  friend  (Sir  Thomas 
Deane),  with  Mr.  Woodward,  was  entrusted  the 
building  of  the  museum  at  Oxford,  the  best  details 
of  the  work  were  executed  by  sculptors  who  had 
been  born  and  trained  here ;  and  the  first  window 
of  the  facade  of  the  building — in  which  was  in- 
augurated the  study  of  natural  science  in  England, 
in  true  fellowship  with  literature — was  carved  from 
my  design,  by  an  Irish  sculptor. 

104.  You  may  perhaps  think  that  no  man  ought 
to  speak  of  disappointment,  to  whom,  even  in  one 
branch  of  labor,  so  much  success  was  granted. 


OP  THE  MYSTEEY  OF   LIFE.  179 

Had  Mr.  Woodward  now  been  beside  ine,  I  had 
not  so  spoken  ;  but  his  gentle  and  passionate  spirit 
was  cut  off  from  the  fulfilment  of  its  purposes,  and 
the  work  we  did  together  is  now  become  vain.  It 
may  not  be  so  in  future ;  but  the  architecture  we 
sndeavored  to  introduce  is  inconsistent  alike  with 
the  reckless  luxury,  the  deforming  mechanism,  and 
the  squalid  misery  of  modern  cities.  Among  the 
formative  fashions  of  the  day,  aided,  especially  in 
England,  by  ecclesiastical  sentiment,  it  indeed 
obtained  notoriety ;  and  sometimes  behind  an  en- 
gine furnace  or  a  railroad  bank,  you  may  detect 
the  pathetic  discord  of  its  momentary  grace,  and 
with  toil  decipher  its  floral  carvings  choked  with 
soot.  I  felt  answerable  to  the  schools  I  loved, 
only  for  their  injury.  I  perceived  that  this  new 
portion  of  my  strength  had  also  been  spent  in 
vain ;  and  from  amidst  streets  of  iron  and  palaces 
of  crystal,  shrunk  back  at  last  to  the  carving  of 
the  mountain  and  color  of  the  flower. 

105.  And  still  I  could  tell  of  failure,  and  fail- 
ure repeated  as  years  went  on ;  but  I  have  tres- 
passed enough  on  your  patience  to  show  you,  in 
part,  the  causes  of  my  discouragement.  Now  let 
me  more  deliberately  tell  you  its  results.  You 
know  there  is  a  tendency  in  the  minds  of  many 
men,  when  they  are  heavily  disappointed  in  the 


180  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

main  purposes  of  their  life,  to  feel,  and  (perhaps 
in  warning,  perhaps  in  mockery)  to  declare  that 
life  itself  is  a  vanity.  Because  it  has  disappointed 
them,  they  think  its  nature  is  of  disappointment 
always,  or,  at  best,  of  pleasure  that  can  be  grasped 
by  imagination  only ;  that  the  cloud  of  it  has  no 
strength  nor  fire  within,  but  is  a  painted  cloud 
only,  to  be  delighted  in,  yet  despised.  You  know 
how  beautifully  Pope  has  expressed  this  particular 
phase  of  thought :  — 

"  Meanwhile  opinion  gilds,  with  varying  rays, 
These  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days ; 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense,  by  pride. 

"  Hope  builds  as  fast  as  Knowledge  can  destroy ; 
In  Folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy. 
One  pleasure  past,  another  still  we  gain ; 
And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain." 

But  the  effect  of  failure  upon  my  own  mind  has 
been  just  the  reverse  of  this.  The  more  that  my 
life  disappointed  me,  the  more  solemn  and  won- 
derful it  became  to  me.  It  seemed,  contrarily  to 
Pope's  saying,  that  the  vanity  of  it  was  indeed 
given  in  vain ;  but  that  there  was  something  be- 
hind the  veil  of  it  which  was  not  vanity.  It'  be- 
came to  me,  not  a  painted  cloud,  but  a  terrible 


OF  THE   MYSTERY   OF  LIFE.  181 

and  impenetrable  one ;  not  a  mirage,  whith  van- 
ished as  I  drew  near,  but  a  pillar  of  darkness,  to 
which  I  was  forbidden  to  draw  near.  For  I  saw 
that  both  my  own  failure,  and  such  success  :  T 
petty  things  as  in  its  poor  triumph  seemed  to  me 
worse  than  failure,  came  from  the  want  of  suffi- 
ciently earnest  effort  to  understand  the  whole  law 
and  meaning  of  existence,  and  to  bring  it  to  noble 
and  due  end ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  I  saw  more 
and  more  clearly  that  all  enduring  success  in  the 
arts,  or  in  any  other  occupation,  had  come  from 
the  ruling  of  lower  purposes, — not  by  a  conviction 
of  their  nothingness,  but  by  a  solemn  faith  in  the 
advancing  power  of  human  nature,  or  in  the  prom- 
ise, however  dimly  apprehended,  that  the  mortal 
part  of  it  would  one  day  he  swallowed  up  in  im- 
mortality ;  and  that,  indeed,  the  arts  themselves 
never  had  reached  any  vital  strength  or  honor  but 
in  the  effort  to  proclaim  this  immortality,  and  in 
the  service  either  of  great  and  just  religion,  or  of 
some  unselfish  patriotism  and  law  of  such  national 
life  as  must  be  the  foundation  of  religion. 

1 06.  Nothing  that  I  have  ever  said  is  more  true 
or  necessary,  nothing  has  been  more  misunder- 
stood or  misapplied,  than  my  strong  assertion  that 
the  arts  can  never  be  right  themselves  unless  their 
motive  is  right.  It  is  misunderstood  this  way : 


182  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

weak  painters  who  have  never  learned  their  busi- 
ness, and  cannot  lay  a  true  line,  continually  come 
to  me,  crying  out, — "  Look  at  this  picture  of 
mine;  it  must  be  good,  Iliad  such  a  lovely  mo- 
tive. I  have  put  my  whole  heart  into  it,  and 
taken  years  to  think  over  its  treatment."  Well, 
the  only  answer  for  these  people  is — if  one  had  the 
cruelty  to  make  it — "  Sir,  you  cannot  think  over 
anything  in  any  number  of  years, — you  haven't 
the  head  to  do  it;  and  though  you  had  fine  mo- 
tives, strong  enough  to  make  you  burn  yourself  in 
a  slow  fire  if  only  first  you  could  paint  a  picture, 
you  can't  paint  one,  nor  half  an  inch  of  one;  you 
haven't  the  hand  to  do  it." 

But  far  more  decisively,  we  have  to  say  to  men 
who  do  know  their  business,  or  may  know  it  if 
they  choose, — "  Sir,  you  have  this  gift,  and  a 
mighty  one ;  see  that  you  serve  your  nation  faith- 
fully with  it.  It  is  a  greater  trust  than  ships  and 
armies ;  you  might  cast  them  away,  if  you  were 
their  captain,  with  less  treason  to  your  people  than 
in  casting  your  own  glorious  power  away,  and 
serving  the  devil  with  it  instead  of  men.  Ships 
and  armies  you  may  replace  if  they  are  lost ;  but 
a  great  intellect,  once  abused,  is  a  curse  to  the 
earth  forever." 

107.  This,  then,  I  meant  by  saying  that  the 


OF   THE  MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  183 

arts  must  have  noble  motive.  This  also  I  said  re- 
specting them,  that  they  never  had  prospered,  nor 
could  prosper,  but  when  they  had  such  true  pur- 
pose, and  were  devoted  to  the  proclamation  of 
Divine  truth  or  law.  And  yet  I  saw  also  that  they 
had  always  failed  in  this  proclamation — that  poetry 
and  sculpture  and  painting,  though  only  great 
when  they  strove  to  teach  us  something  about  the 
gods,  never  had  taught  us  anything  trustworthy 
about  the  gods,  but  had  always  betrayed  their 
trust  in  the  crisis  of  it,  and  with  their  powers  at 
the  full  reach,  became  ministers  to  pride  and  to 
lust.  And  I  felt  also,  with  increasing  amazement, 
the  uhconquerable  apathy  in  ourselves,  the  hear- 
ers, no  less  than  in  these,  the  teachers;  and  that 
while  the  wisdom  and  Tightness  of  every  act  and 
art  of  life  could  only  be  consistent  with  a  right 
understanding  of  the  ends  of  life,  we  were  all 
plunged  as  in  a  languid  dream, — our  heart  fat  and 
our  eyes  heavy  and  our  ears  closed,  lest  the  inspi- 
ration of  hand  or  voice  should  reach  us ;  lest  we 
should  see  with  our  eyes  and  understand  with  our 
hearts,  and  be  healed. 

1 08.  This  intense  apathy  in  all  of  us  is  the  first 
great  mystery  of  life ;  it  stands  in  the  way  of 
every  perception,  every  virtue.  There  is  no  mak- 
ing ourselves  feel  enough  astonishment  at  it.  That 


184  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

the  occupations  or  pastimes  of  life  should  have  no 
motive,  is  understandable ;  but  that  life  itself 
should  have  no  motive, — that  we  neither  care  to 
find  out  what  it  may  lead  to,  nor  to  guard  against 
its  being  forever  taken  away  from  us, — here  is  a 
mystery  indeed.  For  just  suppose  I  were  able  tc 
call  at  this  moment  to  any  one  in  this  audience  by 
name,  and  to  tell  him  positively  that  I  knew  a 
large  estate  had  been  lately  left  to  him  on  some 
curious  conditions;  but  that,  though  I  knew  it  was 
large,  I  did  not  know  how  large,  nor  even  where 
it  was — whether  in  the  East  Indies  or  the  West, 
or  in  England,  or  at  the  Antipodes.  I  only  knew 
it  was  a  vast  estate,  and  there  was  a  chance  of  his 
losing  it  altogether  if  he  did  not  soon  find  out  on 
what  terms  it  had  been  left  to  him.  Suppose  I 
were  able  to  say  this  positively  to  any  single  man 
in  this  audience,  and  he  knew  that  1  did  not  speak 
without  warrant,  do  you  think  that  he  would  rest 
content  with  that  vague  knowledge,  if  it  were  any- 
wise possible  to  obtain  more?  Would  he  not  give 
every  energy  to  find  some  trace  of  the  facts,  and 
never  rest  till  he  had  ascertained  where  this  place 
was,  and  what  it  was  like?  And  suppose  he  were 
a  young  man,  and  all  he  could  discover  by  his  best 
endeavor  was  that  the  estate  was  never  to  be  his  at 
all,  unless  he  persevered  during  certain  years  of 


OF   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  185 

probation,  in  an  orderly  and  industrious  life ;  but 
that,  according  to  the  Tightness  of  his  conduct,  the 
portion  of  the  estate  assigned  to  him  would  be 
greater  or  less,  so  that  it  literally  depended  on  his 
behavior  from  day  to  day  whether  he  got  ten 
thousand  a  year,  or  thirty  thousand  a  year,  or 
nothing  whatever.  Would  you  not  think  it 
strange  if  the  youth  never  troubled  himself  to  sat- 
isfy the  conditions  in  any  way,  nor  even  to  know 
what  was  required  of  him,  but  lived  exactly  as  he 
chose,  and  never  inquired  whether  his  chances  of 
the  estate  were  increasing  or  passing  away  ?  Well, 
you  know  that  this"  is  actually  and  literally  so  with 
the  greater  number  of  the  educated  persons  now 
living  in  Christian  countries.  Nearly  every  man 
and  woman  in  any  company  such  as  this,  out- 
wardly professes  to  believe, — and  a  large  number 
unquestionably  think  they  believe, — much  more 
than  this ;  not  only  that  a  quite  unlimited  estate 
16  in  prospect  for  them  if  they  please  the  Holde. 
of  it,  but  that  the  infinite  contrary  of  such  a  pos- 
session— an  estate  of  perpetual  misery — is  in  store 
for  them  if  they  displease  this  great  Land-Holder, 
this  great  Heaven-Holder.  And  yet  there  is  not 
one  in  a  thousand  of  these  human  souls  that  cares 
to  think,  for  ten  minutes  of  the  day,  where  this 
estate  is,  or  how  beautiful  it  is,  or  what  kind  of 


186  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

life  they  are  to  lead  in  it,  or  what  kind  of  life  they 
must  lead  to  obtain  it. 

109.  You  fancy  that  you  care  to  know  this;  so 
little  do  you  care  that,  probably,  at  this  moment 
many  of  you  are  displeased  with  me  for  talking  of 
the  matter  !  You  came  to  hear  about  the  art  of 
this  world,  not  about  the  life  of  the  next,  and  you 
are  provoked  with  me  for  talking  of  what  you  can 
hear  any  Sunday  in  church.  But  do  not  be  afraid. 
I  will  tell  you  something,  before  you  go,  about 
pictures  and  carvings  and  pottery  and  what  else 
you  would  like  better  to  hear  of  than  the  other 
world.  Nay,  perhaps  you  say,  "We  want  you  to 
talk  of  pictures  and  pottery  because  we  are  sure 
that  you  know  something  of  them,  and  you 
know  nothing  of  the  other  world."  Well,  I 
don't.  That  is  quite  true.  But  the  very 
strangeness  and  mystery  of  which  I  urge  you 
to  take  notice  is  in  this, — that  I  do  not — nor 
you  either.  Can  you  answer  a  single  bold 
question  unflinchingly  about  that  other  world? 
Are  you  sure  there  is  a  heaven  ?  Sure  there  is  a 
hell?  Sure  that  men  are  dropping  before  your 
faces  through  the  pavements  of  these  streets  into 
eternal  fire,  or  sure  that  they  are  not  ?  Sure  that 
at  your  own  death  you  are  going  to  be  delivered 
from  all  sorrow,  to  be  endowed  with  all  virtue,  to 


OP   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  187 

be  gifted  with  all  felicity,  and  raised  into  perpet- 
nal  companionship  with  a  King,  compared  to 
nrhom  the  kings  of  the  earth  are  as  grasshoppers,  and 
the  nations  as  the  dust  of  His  feet?  Are  you 
sure  of  this  ?  or,  if  not  sure,  do  any  of  us  so  much 
as  care  to  make  it  sure  ?  and,  if  not,  how  can  any- 
thing that  we  do  be  right,  how  can  anything  we 
think  be  wise;  what  honor  can  there  be  in  the 
arts  that  amuse  us,  or  what  profit  in  the  possessions 
that  please  ? 

Is  not  this  a  mystery  of  life  ? 

no.  But  further,  you  may  perhaps  think  it  a 
beneficent  ordinance  for  the  generality  of  men, 
that  they  do  not,  with  earnestness  or  anxiety, 
dwell  on  such  questions  of  the  future ;  because  the 
business  of  the  day  could  not  be  done  if  this  kind 
of  thought  were  taken  by  all  of  us  for  the  morrow. 
Be  it  so ;  but  at  least  we  might  anticipate  that  the 
greatest  and  wisest  of  us,  who  were  evidently  the 
appointed  teachers  of  the  rest,  would  set  them- 
selves apart  to  seek  out  whatever  could  be  surely 
known  of  the  future  destinies  of  their  race,  and  to 
teach  this  in  no  rhetorical  or  ambiguous  manner, 
but  in  the  plainest  and  most  severely  earnest 
words. 

Now,  the  highest  representatives  of  men  who 
have  thus  endeavored  during  the  Christian  era  to 


188  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

search  out  these  deep  things  and  relate  them,  are 
Pante  and  Milton.  There  are  none  who,  for 
earnestness  of  thought,  for  mastery  of  word,  can 
be  classed  with  these.  I  am  not  at  present,  mind 
you,  speaking  of  persons  set  apart  in  any  priestly 
or  pastoral  office,  to  deliver  creeds  to  us,  or  doc- 
trines; but  of  men  who  try  to  discover  and  set 
forth,  as  far  as  by  human  intellect  is  possible,  the 
facts  of  the  other  world.  Divines  may  perhaps 
teach  us  how  to  arrive  there;  but  only  these  two 
poets  have  in  any  powerful  manner  striven  to  dis- 
cover, or  in  any  definite  words  professed  to  tell, 
what  we  shall  see  and  become  there ;  or  how  those 
upper  and  nether  worlds  are,  and  have  been,  ip- 
habited. 

in.  And  what  have  they  told  us?  Milton's 
account  of  the  most  important  event  in  his  whole 
system  of  the  universe,  the  fall  of  the  angels,  is 
evidently  unbelievable  to  himself;  and  the  more 
so,  that  it  is  wholly  founded  on,  and  in  a  great 
part  spoiled  and  degraded  from,  Hesiod's  account 
of  the  decisive  war  of  the  younger  gods  with  the 
Titans.  The  rest  of  this  poem  is  a  picturesque 
drama,  in  which  every  artifice  of  invention  is  vis- 
ibly and  consciously  employed ;  not  a  single  fact 
being  for  an  instant  conceived  as  tenable  by  any 
living  faith.  Dante's  conception  is  far  more  in- 


OP  THE  MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  189 

tense,  and  by  himself,  for  the  time,  not  to  be  es- 
caped from;  it  is  indeed  a  vision,  but  a  vision 
only,  and  that  one  of  the  wildest  that  ever  en- 
tranced a  soul, — a  dream  in  which  every  grotesque 
type  or  fantasy  of  heathen  tradition  is  renewed 
and  adorned ;  and  the  destinies  of  the  Christian 
Church,  under  their  most  sacred  symbols,  become 
literally  subordinate  to  the  praise,  and  are  only  to 
be  understood  by  the  aid,  of  one  dear  Florentine 
maiden. 

112.  I  tell  you  truly  that  as  I  strive  more  with 
this  strange  lethargy  and  trance  in  myself,  and 
awake  to  the  meaning  and  power  of  life,  it  seems 
daily  more  amazing  to  me  that  men  such  as  these 
should  dare  to  play  with  the  most  precious  truths 
(or  the  most  deadly  untruths)  by  which  the  whole 
human  race,  listening  to  them,  could  be  informed 
or  deceived.  All  the  world  their  audiences  for- 
ever, with  pleased  ear  and  passionate  heart;  and 
yet,  to  this  submissive  infinitude  of  souls,  and  ev- 
ermore succeeding  and  succeeding  multitude,  hun- 
gry for  bread  of  life,  they  do  but  play  upon  sweetly 
modulated  pipes;  with  pompous  nomenclature 
idorn  the  councils  of  hell ;  touch  a  troubadour's 
juitar  to  the  courses  of  the  suns ;  and  fill  the  open- 
ings of  eternity,  before  which  prophets  have  veiled 
(heir  faces,  and  which  angels  desire  to  look  into, 


190  SESAME   AND   LILlEft 

with  idle  puppets  of  their  scholastic  imagination, 
and  melancholy  lights  of  frantic  faith  in  their  lost 
mortal  love. 

Is  not  this  a  mystery  of  life  ? 

113.  But  more.  We  have  to  remember  that 
these  two  great  teachers  were  both  of  them  warped 
in  their  temper,  and  thwarted  in  their  search  for 
truth.  They  were  men  of  intellectual  war,  unable, 
through  darkness  of  controversy  or  stress  of  per- 
sonal grief,  to  discern  where  their  own  ambition 
modified  their  utterances  of  the  moral  law,  or  their 
own  agony  mingled  with  their  anger  at  its  vio/  - 
tion.  But  greater  men  than  these  have  been  (.u- 
nocent-hearted)  too  great  for  contest, — men,  like 
Homer  and  Shakespeare,  of  so  unrecognized  per- 
sonality that  it  disappears  in  future  ages  and  be- 
comes ghostly,  like  the  tradition  of  a  lost  heathen 
god ;  men,  therefore,  to  whose  unoffended,  uncon- 
demning  sight  the  whole  of  human  nature  reveals 
itself  in  a  pathetic  weakness  with  which  they  will 
not  strive,  or  in  mournful  and  transitory  strength 
which  they  dare  not  praise.  And  all  Pagan  and 
Christian  civilization  thus  becomes  subject  to  them. 
It  does  not  matter  how  little  or  how  much  any  of 
us  have  read,  either  of  Hcmer  or  Shakespeare; 
everything  round  us,  in  substance  or  in  thought, 
has  been  moulded  by  them.  All  Greek  gentlemen 


OF   THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE. 


were  educated  under  Homer.  All  Roman  gentlemen, 
by  Greek  literature.  All  Italian  and  French  and 
English  gentlemen,  by  Roman  literature,  and  by 
its  principles.  Of  the  scope  of  Shakespeare  I  will 
say  only,  that  the  intellectual  measure  of  every 
man  since  born  in  the  domains  of  creative  thought 
may  be  assigned  to  him  according  to  the  degree  in 
which  he  has  been  taught  by  Shakespeare.  Well, 
what  do  these  two  men,  centres  of  moral  intelli- 
gence, deliver  to  us  of  conviction  respecting  what 
it  most  behooves  that  intelligence  to  grasp  ?  What 
is  their  hope,  their  crown  of  rejoicing  ?  what  man- 
ner of  exhortation  have  they  for  us,  or  of  rebuke? 
what  lies  next  their  own  hearts,  and  dictates  their 
undying  words?  Have  they  any  peace  to  promise 
to  our  unrest,  any  redemption  to  our  misery  ? 

114.  Take  Homer  first,  and  think  if  there  is 
any  sadder  image  of  human  fate  than  the  great 
Homeric  story.  The  main  features  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Achilles  are  its  intense  desire  of  justice, 
and  its  tenderness  of  affection.  And  in  that  bit- 
ter song  of  the  Iliad,  this  man,  though  aided  con- 
tinually by  the  wisest  of  the  gods,  and  burning 
with  the  desire  of  justice  in  his  heart,  becomes 
yet,  through  ill-governed  passion,  the  most  unjust 
of  men  ;  and  full  of  the  deepest  tenderness  in  his 
heart,  becomes  yet,  through  ill-governed  passion, 


192  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

the  most  cruel  of  men.  Intense  alike  in  love  and 
in  friendship,  he  loses  first  his  mistress  and  then 
his  friend ;  for  the  sake  of  the  one  he  surrenders  to 
death  the  armies  of  his  own  land  ;  for  the  sake  of  the 
other  he  surrenders  all.  Will  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friend  ?  Yea,  even  for  his  dead  friend  this 
Achilles,  though  goddess-born  and  goddess-taught, 
gives  up  his  kingdom,  his  country,  and  his  life; 
casts  alike  the  innocent  and  guilty,  with  himself, 
into  one  gulf  of  slaughter,  and  dies  at  last  by  the 
hand  of  the  basest  of  his  adversaries.  Is  not  this 
a  mystery  of  life  ? 

115.  But  what,  then,  is  the  message  to  us  of  our 
own  poet  and  searcher  of  hearts,  after  fifteen  hun- 
dred years  of  Christian  faith  have  been  numbered 
over  the  graves  of  men?  Are  his  words  more 
cheerful  than  the  heathen's;  is  his  hope  more 
near,  his  trust  more  sure,  his  reading  of  fate  more 
happy?  Ah,  no!  He  differs  from  the  heathen 
poet  chiefly  in  this, — that  he  recognizes,  for  deliv- 
erance, no  gods  nigh  at  hand ;  and  that  by  petty 
chance,  by  momentary  folly,  by  broken  message, 
by  fool's  tyranny  or  traitor's  snare,  the  strongest 
and  most  righteous  are  brought  to  their  ruin,  and 
perish  without  word  of  hope.  He,  indeed,  as 
part  of  his  rendering  of  character,  ascribes  the 
power  and  modesty  of  habitual  devotion  to  the 


OF   THE  MY8TBHY   OF  LIFE.  193 

gentle  and  the  just.  The  death-bed  of  Katharine 
is  bright  with  vision  of  angels ;  and  the  great  sol- 
dier-king, standing  by  his  few  dead,  acknowledges 
the  presence  of  the  hand  that  can  save  alike  by 
many  or  by  few.  But  observe  that  from  those  who 
with  deepest  spirit  meditate,  and  with  deepest  pas- 
sion mourn,  there  are  no  such  words  as  these;  nor 
in  their  hearts  are  any  such  consolations.  Instead 
of  the  perpetual  sense  of  the  helpful  presence  of 
the  Deity,  which  through  all  heathen  tradition  is 
the  source  of  heroic  strength,  in  battle,  in  exile, 
and  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  we  find 
only  in  the  great  Christian  poet  the  consciousness 
of  a  moral  law,  through  which  "the  gods  are  just, 
and  of  our  pleasant  vices  make  instruments  to 
scourge  us;"  and  of  the  resolved  arbitration  of 
the  destinies,  that  conclude  into  precision  of  doom 
what  we  feebly  and  blindly  began ;  and  force  us, 
when  our  indiscretion  serves  us  and  our  deepest 
plots  do  pall,  to  the  confession  that  "  there's  a  di- 
rinity  that  shapes  our  ends,  rough-hew  them  how 
we  will." 

Is  not  this  a  mystery  of  life  ? 

1 16.     Be  it  so,   then.     About  this  human  Kfc 

that  is  to  be,  or  that  is,  the  wise  religious  men 

teD  us  nothing  that  we  can  trust;  and  the  wise 

contemplative  men,  nothing  that  can  give  us  peace. 

18 


194  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

But  there  is  yet  a  third  class  to  whom  we  may  turn, 
the  wise  practical  men.  We  have  sat  at  the  feet 
of  poets  who  sang  of  heaven,  and  they  have  told 
us  their  dreams.  We  have  listened  to  the  poets 
who  sang  of  earth,  and  they  have  chanted  to  ns 
dirges,  and  words  of  despair.  But  there  is  one 
class  of  men  or  more, — men  not  capable  of  vision, 
nor  sensitive  to  sorrow,  but  firm  of  purpose,  prac- 
tised in  business,  learned  in  all  that  can  be  (by 
handling)  known ;  men  whose  hearts  and  hopes  are 
wholly  in  this  present  world,  from  whom,  therefore, 
we  may  surely  learn  at  least  how  at  present  conven- 
iently to  live  in  it.  What  will  they  say  to  us,  or 
show  us  by  example, — these  kings,  these  councillors, 
these  statesmen  and  builders  of  kingdoms;  these 
capitalists  and  men  of  business,  who  weigh  the  earth 
and  the  dust  of  it  in  a  balance?  They  know  the 
world  surely;  and  what  is  the  mystery  of  life  to  us, 
is  none  to  them.  They  can  surely  show  us  how  to 
live  while  we  live,  and  to  gather  out  of  the  present 
world  what  is  best. 

1 1 7.  I  think  I  can  best  tell  you  their  answer  by  tell- 
ing you  a  dream  I  had  once.  For  though  I  am  no 
poet  I  have  dreams  sometimes :  I  dreamed  I  was 
at  a  child's  May-day  party,  in  which  every  means 
of  entertainment  had  been  provided  for  them  by  a 
and  kind  host.  It  was  in  a  stately  house, 


OF   THE   MYSTERY    OF   LIFE.  195 

with  beautiful  gardens  attached  to  it,  and  the  chil- 
dren had  been  set  free  in  the  rooms  and  gardens, 
with  no  care  whatever  but  how  to  pass  their  after- 
noon rejoicingly.  They  did  not,  indeed,  know 
much  about  what  was  to  happen  next  day;  and 
some  of  them  I  thought  were  a  little  frightened  be- 
cause there  was  a  chance  of  their  being  sent  to  a 
new  school  where  there  were  examinations;  but 
they  kept  the  thoughts  of  that  out  of  their  heads  as 
well  as  they  could,  and  resolved  to  enjoy  them- 
selves. The  house,  I  said,  was  in  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, and  in  the  garden  were  all  kinds  of  flowers; 
sweet  grassy  banks  for  rest;  and  smooth  lawns  for 
play;  and  pleasant  streams  and  woods;  and  rocky 
places  for  climbing.  And  the  children  were  happy 
for  a  little  while;  but  presently  they  separated 
themselves  into  parties,  and  then  each  party  de- 
clared it  would  have  a  piece  of  the  garden  for  its 
own,  and  that  none  of  the  others  should  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  that  piece.  Next,  they  quarrelled 
violently  which  pieces  they  would  have.  And  at 
last  the  boys  took  up  the  thing,  as  boys  should  do, 
"practically,"  and  fought  in  the  flower-beds  till 
there  was  hardly  a  flower  left  standing;  then  they 
trampled  down  each  other's  bits  of  the  garden  out 
of  spite ;  and  the  girls  cried  till  they  could  cry  no 
more,  and  so  they  all  lay  down  at  last  breathless  in 


196  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

the  ruin,  and  waited  for  the  time  when  they  were 
to  be  taken  home  in  the  evening.1 

118.  Meanwhile,  the  children  in  the  house  had 
been  making  themselves  happy  also  in  their  man- 
ner. For  them  there  had  been  provided  every 
kind  of  in-doors  pleasure :  there  was  music  for 
them  to  dance  to  ;  and  the  library  was  open,  witb 
all  manner  of  amusing  books ;  and  there  was  a 
museum  full  of  the  most  curious  shells  and  animals 
and  birds  ;  and  there  was  a  workshop,  with  lathes 
and  carpenter's  tools,  for  the  ingenious  boys ;  and 
there  were  pretty  fantastic  dresses  for  the  girls  to 
dress  in  ;  and  there  were  microscopes  and  kaleido- 
scopes and  whatever  toys  a  child  could  fancy ;  and 
a  table  in  the  dining-room  loaded  with  everything 
nice  to  eat. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  it  struck  two  or 
three  of  the  more  ' '  practical ' '  children  that  they 
would  like  some  of  the  brass-headed  nails  that 
studded  the  chairs,  and  so  they  set  to  work  to  pull 
them  out.  Presently  the  others,  who  were  read- 
ing or  looking  at  shells,  took  a  fancy  to  do  the 
like  ;  and  in  a  little  while  all  the  children,  nearly, 

1 1  have  sometimes  been  asked  what  this  means.  I  in- 
tended it  to  set  forth  the  wisdom  of  men  in  war  contending 
for  kingdoms ;  and  what  follows,  to  set  forth  their  wisdom 
in  peace,  contending  for  wealth. 


OP   THE   MYSTERY   OP   LIFE.  197 


were  spraining  their  ringers  in  pulling  out  brass- 
headed  nails.  With  all  that  they  could  pull  out 
they  were  not  satisfied ;  and  then  everybody 
wanted  some  of  somebody  else's.  And  at  last  the 
really  practical  and  sensible  ones  declared  that 
nothing  was  of  any  real  consequence  that  after- 
noon except  to  get  plenty  of  brass-headed  nails ; 
and  that  the  books  and  the  cakes  and  the  micro- 
scopes were  of  no  use  at  all  in  themselves,  but 
only  if  they  could  be  exchanged  for  nail-heads. 
And  at  last  they  began  to  fight  for  nail-heads,  as 
the  others  fought  for  the  bits  of  garden.  Only 
here  and  there  a  despised  one  shrunk  away  into  a 
corner,  and  tried  to  get  a  little  quiet  with  a  book 
in  the  midst  of  the  noise ;  but  all  the  practical 
ones  thought  of  nothing  else  but  counting  nail- 
heads  all  the  afternoon,  even  though  they  knew 
they  would  not  be  allowed  to  carry  so  nv.xh  as  one 
brass  knob  away  with  them.  But  no !  it  was, 
"  Who  has  most  nails?  I  have  a  hundred  and  you 
have  fifty ;  "  or,  "I  have  a  thousand  and  you  have 
two.  I  must  have  as  many  as  you  before  I  leave 
the  house  or  I  cannot  possibly  go  home  in  peace." 
At  last  they  made  so  much  noise  that  I  awoke,  and 
thought  to  myself,  "  What  a  false  dream  that  is  of 
children"  The  child  is  the  father  of  the  man, 


198  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 

and  wiser.  Children  never  do  such  foolish  things. 
Only  men  do. 

119.  But  there  is  yet  one  last  class  of  persons  to 
be  interrogated.  The  wise  religious  men  we  have 
asked  in  vain ;  the  wise  contemplative  men,  in 
vain ;  the  wise  worldly  men,  in  vain.  But  there 
is  another  group  yet.  In  the  midst  of  this  vanity 
of  empty  religion,  of  tragic  contemplation,  of 
wrathful  and  wretched  ambition  and  dispute  for 
dust,  there  is  yet  one  great  group  of  persons  by 
whom  all  these  disputers  live, — the  persons  who 
have  determined,  or  have  had  it  by  a  beneficent 
Providence  determined  for  them,  that  they  will  do 
something  useful ;  that  whatever  may  be  prepared 
for  them  hereafter,  or  happen  to  them  here,  they 
will  at  least  deserve  the  food  that  God  gives  them 
by  winning  it  honorably ;  and  that,  however  fallen 
from  the  purity  or  far  from  the  peace  of  Eden,  they 
will  carry  out  the  duty  of  human  dominion  though 
they  have  lost  its  felicity ;  and  dress  and  keep  the 
wilderness  though  they  no  more  can  dress  or  keep 
the  garden. 

These  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water, 
these  bent  under  burdens  or  torn  of  scourges,  these 
that  dig  and  weave,  that  plant  and  build ;  work- 
ers in  wood,  and  in  marble,  and  in  iron,  by  whom 
all  food,  clothing,  habitation,  furniture,  and  means 


OF   THE  MYSTERY  OF   LIFE.  199 

of  delight  are  produced,  for  themselves  and  for  all 
men  besides, — men  whose  deeds  are  good  though 
their  words  may  be  few  ;  men  whose  lives  are  serv- 
iceable, be  they  never  so  short,  and  worthy  of 
honor,  be  they  never  so  humble ;  from  these  surely 
at  least  we  may  receive  some  clear  message  of 
teaching,  and  pierce  for  an  instant  into  the  mys- 
tery of  life  and  of  its  arts. 

120.  Yes;  from  these,  at  last,  we  do  receive  a 
tesson.     But  I  grieve  to  say,  or  rather — for  that  is 
the  deeper  truth  of  the  matter — I  rejoice  to  say, 
this  message  of  theirs  can  only  be  received  by  join- 
ing them,  not  by  thinking  about  them. 

You  sent  for  me  to  talk  to  you  of  art ;  and  I 
have  obeyed  you  in  coming.  But  the  main  thing 
I  have  to  tell  you  is,  that  art  must  not  be  talked 
about.  The  fact  that  there  is  talk  about  it  at  all 
signifies  that  it  is  ill-done,  or  cannot  be  done.  No 
trne  painter  ever  speaks,  or  ever  has  spoken,  much 
of  his  art.  The  greatest  speak  nothing.  Even, 
Reynolds  is  no  exception  ;  for  he  wrote  of  all  that 
he  could  not  himself  do,  and  was  utterly  silent 
respecting  all  that  he  himself  did. 

The  moment  a  man  can  really  do  his  work  he 
becomes  speechless  about  it.  All  words  become 
idle  to  him,  all  theories. 

121.  Does  a  bird  need1  to  theorize  about  build- 


200  SESAME  AND   LILIES. 

ing  its  nest,  or  boast  of  it  when  built  ?  All  good 
work  is  essentially  done  that  way,  without  hesita- 
tion, without  difficulty,  without  boasting;  and  io 
the  doers  of  the  best,  there  is  an  inner  and  invol- 
untary power  which  approximates  literally  to  the 
instinct  of  an  animal.  Nay,  I  am  certain  that  in 
the  most  perfect  human  artists,  reason  does  not 
supersede  instinct,  but  is  added  to  an  instinct  as 
much  more  divine  than  that  of  the  lower  animals 
as  the  human  body  is  more  beautiful  than  theirs; 
that  a  great  singer  sings  not  with  less  instinct  than 
the  nightingale,  but  with  more,  only  more  various, 
applicable,  and  governable ;  that  a  great  architect 
does  not  build  with  less  instinct  than  the  beaver 
or  the  bee,  but  with  more  ;  with  an  innate  cunning 
of  proportion  that  embraces  all  beauty,  and  a  di- 
vine ingenuity  of  skill  that  improvises  all  construc- 
tion. But  be  that  as  it  may, — be  the  instinct  less 
or  more  than  that  of  inferior  animals,  like  or  un- 
like theirs, — still  the  human  art  is  dependent  on 
that  first,  and  then  upon  an  amount  of  practice,  of 
science,  and  of  imagination  disciplined  by  thought 
which  the  true  possessor  of  it  knows  to  be  incom- 
municable, and  the  true  critic  of  it  inexplicable, 
except  through  long  process  of  laborious  years. 
That  journey  of  life's  conquest,  in  which  hills  over 
hills  and  Alps  on  Alps  arose  and  sank, — do  you 


OF   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  201 

think  you  can  make  another  trace  it  painlessly,  by 
talking?  Why,  you  cannot  even  carry  us  up  an 
Alp  by  talking.  You  can  guide  us  up  it,  step  by 
step,  no  otherwise ;  even  so,  best  silently.  You 
girls  who  have  been  among  the  hills  know  how  the 
bad  guide  chatters  and  gesticulates,  and  it  is  "  put 
your  foot  here,"  and  "  mind  how  you  balance 
yourself  there;"  but  the  good  guide  walks  on 
quietly  without  a  word,  only  with  his  eyes  on  you 
when  need  is,  and  his  arm  like  an  iron  bar  if  need 
be. 

123.  In  that  slow  way,  also,  art  can  be  taught,if 
you  have  faith  in  your  guide  and  will  let  his  arm 
be  to  you  as  an  iron  bar  when  need  is.  But  in 
what  teacher  of  art  have  you  such  faith?  Cer- 
tainly not  in  me  ;  for,  as  I  told  you  at  first,  I  know 
well  enough  it  is  only  because  you  think  I  can  talk, 
not  because  you  think  I  know  my  business,  that  you 
let  me  speak  to  you  at  all.  If  I  were  to  tell  you 
anything  that  seemed  to  you  strange,  you  would 
not  believe  it ;  and  yet  it  would  only  be  in  telling 
you  strange  things  that  I  could  be  of  use  to  you.  I 
could  be  of  great  use  to  you — infinite  use — with 
brief  saying,  if  you  would  believe  it  ;  but  you 
would  not,  just  because  the  thing  that  would  be 
of  real  use  would  displease  you.  You  are  all  wild, 
for  instance,  with  admiration  of  Gustave  Dor*, 


202  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

Well,  suppose  I  were  to  tell  you,  in  the  strongest 
terms  I  could  use,  that  Gustave  Bore's  art  was 
bad, — bad,  not  in  weakness,  not  in  failure,  but  bad 
with  dreadful  power — the  power  of  the  Furies 
and  the  Harpies  mingled — enraging  and  pollut- 
ing ;  that  so  long  as  you  looked  at  it,  no  percep- 
tion of  pure  or  beautiful  art  was  possible  for  you. 
Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  !  What  would  be 
the  use?  Would  you  look  at  Gustave  Dore"  less? 
Rather  more,  I  fancy.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
could  soon  put  you  into  good  humor  with  me  if  I 
chose.  I  know  well  enough  what  you  like,  and 
how  to  praise  it  to  your  better  liking.  I  could 
talk  to  you  about  moonlight  and  twilight  and 
spring  flowers  and  autumn  leaves  and  the  madon- 
nas of  Raphael — how  motherly  !  and  the  sibyls 
of  Michel  Angelo — how  majestic !  and  the  saints 
of  Angelico  —  how  pious !  and  the  cherubs 
of  Correggio — how  delicious !  Old  as  I  am,  I 
could  play  you  a  tune  on  the  harp  yet,  that  you 
would  dance  to.  But  neither  you  nor  I  should  be 
a  bit  the  better  or  wiser ;  or  if  we  were,  our 
increased  wisdom  could  be  of  no  practical  effect. 
For  indeed,  the  arts,  as  regards  teachableness, 
differ  from  the  sciences  also  in  this :  that  their 
power  is  founded  not  merely  on  facts  which  can 
be  communicated,  but  on  dispositions  which  re- 


OF  THE  MYSTERY  OF   LIFE.  203 


quire  to  be  created.  Art  is  neither  to  be  achieved 
by  effort  of  thinking  nor  explained  by  accuracy  of 
speaking.  It  is  the  instinctive  and  necessary  result 
of  powers  which  can  only  be  developed  through 
the  mind  of  successive  generations,  and  which 
finally  burst  into  life  under  social  conditions  as 
slow  of  growth  as  the  faculties  they  regulate. 
Whole  eras  of  mighty  history  are  summed,  and  the 
passions  of  dead  myraids  are  concentrated,  in  the 
existence  of  a  noble  art;  and  if  that  noble  art 
were  among  us,  we  should  feel  it  and  rejoice, 
not  caring  in  the  least  to  hear  lectures  on  it. 
And  since  it  is  not  among  us,  be  assured  we 
have  to  go  back  to  the  root  of  it,  or  at  least,  to  the 
place  where  the  stock  of  it  is  yet  alive  and  the 
Dranches  began  to  die. 

23.  And  now  may  I  have  your  pardon  for 
pointing  out,  partly  with  reference  to  matters 
which  are  at  this  time  of  greater  moment  than  the 
arts,  that  if  we  undertook  such  recession  to  the  vi- 
tal germ  of  national  arts  that  have  decayed,  we 
should  find  a  more  singular  arrest  of  their  power 
in  Ireland  than  in  any  other  European  country. 
For  in  the  eighth  century  Ireland  possessed  a 
school  of  art  in  her  manuscripts  and  sculpture, 
which  in  many  of  its  qualities  (apparently  in  all 
essential  qualities  of  decorative  invention)  was 


204  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

quite  without  rival,  seeming  as  if  it  might  have 
advanced  to  the  highest  triumphs  in  architecture 
and  in  painting.  But  there  was  one  fatal  flaw  in 
its  nature  by  which  it  was  stayed, — and  stayed 
with  a  conspicuousness  of  pause  to  which  there  is 
no  parallel, — so  that  long  ago,  in  tracing  the  prog- 
ress of  European  schools  from  infancy  to  strength, 
I  chose  for  the  students  of  Kensington,  in  a  lec- 
ture since  published,  two  characteristic  examples  of 
early  art  of  equal  skill ;  but  in  the  one  case,  skill 
which  was  progressive;  in  the  other,  skill  which 
was  at  pause.  In  the  one  case,  it  was  work 
receptive  of  correction — hungry  for  correction ; 
and  in  the  other,  work  which  inherently  rejected 
correction.  I  chose  for  them  a  corrigible  Eve  axd 
an  incorrigible  angel ;  and  I  grieve  to  say  that  the 
incorrigible  angel  was  also  an  Irish  angel ! l 

124.  And  the  fatal  difference  lay  wholly  in  this. 
In  both  pieces  of  art  there  was  an  equal  falling 
short  of  the  needs  of  fact ;  but  the  Lombardic 
Eve  knew  she  was  in  the  wrong,  and  the  Irish  an- 
gel thought  himself  all  right.  The  eager  Lombar- 
dic sculptor,  though  firmly  insisting  on  his  child- 
ish idea,  yet  showed  in  the  irregular  broken  touches 
of  the  features  and  the  imperfect  struggle  for 
softer  lines  in  the  form,  a  perception  of  beauty 
»  See  "  The  Two  Paths,"  p.  27. 


OF   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  205 

and  law  that  he  could  not  render ;  there  was  the 
strain  of  effort,  under  conscious  imperfection  in 
every  line.  But  the  Irish  missal-painter  had 
drawn  his  angel  with  no  sense  of  failure,  in  happy 
complacency,  and  put  red  dots  into  the  palms  of 
each  hand  and  rounded  the  eyes  into  perfect  cir- 
cles, and,  I  regret  to  say,  left  the  mouth  out  alto- 
gether, with  perfect  satisfaction  to  himself. 

125.  May  I  without  offence  ask  you  to  consider 
whether  this  mode  of  arrest  in  ancient  Irish  art 
<nay  not  be  indicative  of  points  of  character  which 
4ven  yet,  in  some  measure,  arrest  your  national 
power?  I  have  seen  much  of  Irish  character,  and 
have  watched  it  closely,  for  I  have  also  much 
loved  it.  And  I  think  the  form  of  failure  to 
which  it  is  most  liable  is  this :  that  being  gener- 
ous-hearted, and  wholly  intending  always  to  do 
right,  it  does  not  attend  to  the  external  laws  of 
right,  but  thinks  it  must  necessarily  do  right  be- 
cause it  means  to  do  so,  and  therefore  does  wrong 
without  finding  it  out;  and  then,  when  the  conse- 
quences of  its  wrong  come  upon  it  or  upon  others 
connected  with  it,  it  cannot  conceive  that  the 
wrong  is  in  anywise  of  its  causing  or  of  its  doing, 
but  flies  into  wrath  and  a  strange  agony  of  desire 
(or  justice,  as  feeling  itself  wholly  innocent,  which 


206  SESAME  AND  LILIES. 


leads  it  farther  astray,  until  there  is  nothing  that  it 
is  not  capable  of  doing  with  a  good  conscience. 

126.  But  mind,  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  in 
past  or  present  relations  between  Ireland  and  Eng- 
land, you  have  been  wrong,  and  we  right.     Far 
from  that,  I  believe  that  in  all  great  questions  of 
principle,  and  in  all  details  of  administration  of 
law,  you  have  been  usually  right  and  we  wrong ; 
sometimes  in  misunderstanding  you,  sometimes  in 
resolute  iniquity  to  you.     Nevertheless,  in  all  dis- 
putes between  States,  though  the  strongest  is  nearly 
always  mainly  in  the  wrong,  the  weaker  is  often  so 
in  a  minor  degree  j  and  I  think  we  sometimes  ad- 
mit the  possibility  of  our  being  in  error,  and  you 
never  do. 

127.  And  now,  returning  to  the  broader  ques- 
tion of  what  these  arts  and  labors  of  life  have  to 
teach  us  of  its  mystery,  this  is  the  first  of  their  les- 
sons :  that  the  more  beautiful  the  art  the  more  it 
is  essentially  the  work  of  people  who  feel  them- 
selves wrong;  who  are  striving  for  the  fulfilment 
of  a  law  and  the  grasp  of  a  loveliness  which  they 
have  not  yet  attained,  which  they  feel  even  farther 
and  farther  from  attaining  the  more  they  strive  for 
it.     And  yet,  in  still  deeper  sense,  it  is  the  work 
of  people  who  know  also  that  they  are  right.    The 
very  sense  of  inevitable  error  from  their  purpose 


OF   THE   MYSTERY    OP   LIFE.  207 

marks  the  perfectness  of  that  purpose,  and  the 
continued  sense  of  failure  arises  from  the  contin- 
ued opening  of  the  eyes  more  clearly  to  all  the  sa- 
credest  laws  of  truth. 

128.  This  is  one  lesson.  The  second  is  a  very 
plain  and  greatly  precious  one;  namely,  that 
whenever  the  arts  and  labors  of  life  are  fulfilled  in 
this  spirit  of  striving  against  misrule,  and  doing 
whatever  we  have  to  do  honorably  and  perfectly, 
they  invariably  bring  happiness,  as  much  as  seems 
possible  to  the  nature  of  man.  In  all  other  paths 
by  which  that  happiness  is  pursued  there  is  disap- 
pointment or  destruction ;  for  ambition  and  for 
passion  there  is  no  rest,  no  fruition ;  the  fairest 
pleasures  of  youth  perish  in  a  darkness  greater 
than  their  past  light,  and  the  loftiest  and  purest 
love  too  often  does  but  inflame  the  cloud  of  life 
with  endless  fire  of  pain.  But  ascending  from 
lowest  to  highest,  through  every  scale  of  human 
industry,  that  industry,  worthily  followed,  gives 
peace.  Ask  the  laborer  in  the  field,  at  the  forge, 
or  in  the  mine ;  ask  the  patient,  delicate-fingered 
artisan,  or  the  strong-armed,  fiery-hearted  worker 
in  bronze,  and  in  marble,  and  with  the  colors  of 
light;  and  none  of  these  who  are  true  workmen 
will  ever  tell  you  that  they  have  found  the  law  of 
Heaven  an  unkind  one,  that  in  the  sweat  of  their 


308  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 


face  they  should  eat  bread  till  they  return  to  the 
ground ;  nor  that  they  ever  found  it  an  unrewarded 
obedience,  if,  indeed,  it  was  rendered  faithfully  to 
the  command,  "  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to 
do,  do  it  with  thy  might." 

129.  These  are  the  two  great  and  constant  les- 
sons which  our  laborers  teach  us  of  the  mystery  of 
life.  But  there  is  another  and  a  sadder  one  which 
they  cannot  teach  us,  which  we  must  read  on  their 
tombstones. 

"Do  it  with  thy  might."  There  have  been 
myriads  upon  myriads  of  human  creatures  who 
have  obeyed  this  law  ;  who  have  put  every  breath 
and  nerve  of  their  being  into  its  toil ;  who  have 
devoted  every  hour,  and  exhausted  every  faculty ; 
who  have  bequeathed  their  unaccomplished 
thoughts  at  death  ;  who,  being  dead,  have  yet 
spoken  by  majesty  of  memory  and  strength  of  ex- 
ample. And  at  last  what  has  all  this  "might" 
of  humanity  accomplished  in  six  thousand  years  of 
labor  and  sorrow  ?  What  has  it  done  ?  Take  the 
three  chief  occupations  and  arts  of  men  one  by 
o»e  and  count  their  achievements.  Begin  with  the 
first,  the  lord  of  them  all,  agriculture.  Six  thou- 
sand years  have  passed  since  we  were  set  to  till  the 
ground  from  which  we  were  taken.  How  much 
of  it  is  tilled  ?  How  much  of  that  which  is,  wisely 


OF   THE)  MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  203 

or  well  ?  In  the  very  centre  and  chief  garden  of 
Europe,  where  the  two  forms  of  parent  Christianity 
have  had  their  fortresses,  where  the  noble 
Catholics  of  the  Forest  Cantons  and  the  noble 
Protestants  of  the  Vaudois  valleys  have  maintained 
for  dateless  ages  their  faiths  and  liberties,  there 
the  unchecked  Alpine  rivers  yet  run  wild  in  devas- 
tation; and  the  marshes,  which  a  few  hundred 
men  could  redeem  with  a  year's  labor,  still  blast 
their  helpless  inhabitants  into  fevered  idiotism. 
That  is  so  in  the  centre  of  Europe  !  while  on  tht 
near  coast  of  Africa,  once  the  Garden  of  the  Hes- 
perides,  an  Arab  woman,  but  a  few  sunsets  since, 
ate  her  child  for  famine.  And  with  all  the  treas- 
ures of  the  East  at  our  feet  we,  in  our  own  domin- 
ion, could  not  find  a  few  grains  of  rice  for  a  peo- 
ple that  asked  of  us  no  more  ;  but  stood  by  ana 
saw  five  hundred  thousand  of  them  perish  of  hun- 
ger. 

130.  Then  after  agriculture,  the  art  of  kings, 
take  the  next  head  of  human  arts,  weaving,  the  art 
of  queens,  honored  of  all  noble  heathen  women  in 
the  person  of  their  virgin  goddess,  honored  of  all 
Hebrew  women  by  the  word  of  their  wisest  king, 
"  She  layeth  her  hands  to  the  spindle,  and  her 
hands  hold  the  distaff ;  she  stretcheth  out  her  hand 
to  the  poor.  She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  her 
14 


210  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

household,  for  all  her  household  are  clothed  witb 
scarlet.  She  maketh  herself  covering  of  tapestry ; 
her  clothing  is  silk  and  purple.  She  maketh  fine 
linen  and  selleth  it,  and  delivereth  girdles  to  the 
merchant."  What  have  we  done  in  all  these  thou- 
sands of  years  with  this  bright  art  of  Greek  maid 
and  Christian  matron?  Six  thousand  years  of 
weaving  and  have  we  learned  to  weave  ?  Might 
not  every  naked  wall  have  been  purple  with  tapes- 
try, and  every  feeble  breast  fenced  with  sweet 
colors  from  the  cold  ?  What  have  we  done  ?  Our 
fingers  are  too  few,  it  seems,  to  twist  together  some 
poor  covering  for  our  bodies.  We  set  our  streams 
to  work  for  us  and  choke  the  air  with  fire  to  turn 
our  spinning-wheels;  and  are  we  yet  clothed? 
Are  not  the  streets  of  the  capitals  of  Europe  foul 
with  the  sale  of  cast  clouts  and  rotten  rags?  Is 
not  the  beauty  of  your  sweet  children  left  in 
wretchedness  of  disgrace,  while  with  better  honor 
Nature  clothes  the  brood  of  the  bird  in  its  nest, 
and  the  suckling  of  the  wolf  in  her  den  ?  And 
does  not  every  winter's  snow  robe  what  you  have 
not  robed,  and  shroud  what  you  have  not 
shrouded  ;  and  every  winter's  wind  bear  up  to 
heaven  its  wasted  souls,  to  witness  against  you 
hereafter  by  the  voice  of  their  Christ,  ' '  I  was 
naked,  and  ye  clothed  me  not "  ? 


OF  THE  MYSTERY  OF  LIFE.  211 

131.  Lastly,  take  the  art  of  building,  the  strong- 
est, proudest,  most  orderly,  most  enduring  of  the 
arts  of  man,  that  of  which  the  produce  is  in  the 
surest  manner  accumulative,  and  need  not  perish 
or  be  replaced ;  but  if  once  well  done  will  stand 
more  strongly  than  the  unbalanced  rocks,  more 
prevalently  than  the  crumbling  hills.  The  art 
which  is  associated  with  all  civic  pride  and  sacred 
principle,  with  which  men  record  their  power, 
satisfy  their  enthusiasm,  make  sure  their  defence, 
define  and  make  dear  their  habitation.  And  in 
six  thousand  years  of  building  what  have  we  done  ? 
Of  the  greater  part  of  all  that  skill  and  strength, 
no  vestige  is  left  but  fallen  stones  that  encumber 
the  field  and  impede  the  streams.  But  from  this 
waste  of  disorder  and  of  time  and  of  rage,  what  is 
left  to  us?  Constructive  and  progressive  creatures 
that  we  are,  with  ruling  brains  and  forming  hands, 
capable  of  fellowship  and  thirsting  for  fame,  can 
we  not  contend  in  comfort  with  the  insects  of  the 
forest,  or  in  achievement  with  the  worm  of  the 
sea?  The  white  surf  rages  in  vain  against  the 
ramparts  built  by  poor  atoms  of  scarcely  nascent 
life,  but  only  ridges  of  formless  ruin  mark  the 
places  where  once  dwelt  our  noblest  multitudes. 
The  ant  and  the  moth  have  cells  for  each  of  their 
young,  but  our  little  ones  lie  in  festering  heaps  in 


212  SESAME    AND   LILIES. 


homes  that  consume  them  like  graves  ;  and  nighv 
by  night  from  the  corners  of  our  streets  rises  up 
the  cry  of  the  homeless,  "  I  was  a  stranger,  and 
ye  took  me  not  in." 

132.  Must  it  be  always  thus?  Is  our  life  for- 
ever to  be  without  profit,  without  possession  ? 
Shall  the  strength  of  its  generations  be  as  barren 
as  death,  or  cast  away  their  labor  as  the  wild  fig- 
tree  casts  her  untimely  figs  ?  Is  it  all  a  dream 
then,  the  desire  of  the  eyes  and  the  pride  of  life  ? 
or,  if  it  be,  might  we  not  live  in  nobler  dream  than 
this  ?  The  poets  and  prophets,  the  wise  men  and 
the  scribes,  though  they  have  told  us  nothing 
about  a  life  to  come,  have  told  us  much  about  the 
life  that  is  now.  They  have  had,  they  also,  their 
dreams;  and  we  have  laughed  at  them.  They 
have  dreamed  of  mercy  and  of  justice ;  they  have 
dreamed  of  peace  and  good-will;  they  have 
dreamed  of  labor  undisappointed,  and  of  rest  un- 
disturbed ;  they  have  dreamed  of  fulness  in  har- 
vest and  overflowing  in  store  ;  they  have  dreamed 
of  wisdom  in  council,  and  of  providence  in  law ; 
of  gladness  of  parents,  and  strength  of  children, 
and  glory  of  gray  hairs.  And  at  these  visions  of 
theirs  we  have  mocked,  and  held  them  for  idle 
and  vain,  unreal  and  unacccmplishable.  What 
have  we  accomplished  with  our  realities  ?  Is  this 


OF   THE   MYSTEEY  OF   LIFE.  213 

what  has  come  of  our  worldly  wisdom,  tried 
against  their  folly?  this  our  mightiest  possible, 
against  their  impotent  ideal?  or  have  we  only 
wandered  among  the  spectra  of  a  baser  felicity, 
and  chased  phantoms  of  the  tombs,  instead  of 
visions  of  the  Almighty;  and  walked  after  the 
imaginations  of  our  evil  hearts,  instead  of  after  the 
counsels  of  Eternity,  until  our  lives — not  in  the 
likeness  of  the  cloud  of  heaven,  but  of  the  smoke 
of  hell — have  become  ' '  as  a  vapor,  that  appeareth 
for  a  little  time,  and  then  vanisheth  away ' '  ? 

133.  Does  it  vanish,  then  ?  Are  you  sure  of 
that, — sure  that  the  nothingness  of  the  grave  will 
be  a  rest  from  this  troubled  nothingness ;  and  that 
the  coiling  shadow,  which  disquiets  itself  in  vain, 
cannot  change  into  the  smoke  of  the  torment  that 
ascends  forever  ?  Will  any  answer  that  they  are 
sure  of  it,  and  that  there  is  no  fear  nor  hope  nor 
desire  nor  labor,  whither  they  go  ?  Be  it  so ;  will 
you  not,  then,  make  as  sure  of  the  life  that  now  is, 
as  you  are  of  the  death  that  is  to  come  ?  Your 
hearts  are  wholly  in  this  world  ;  will  you  not  give 
them  to  it  wisely,  as  well  as  perfectly  ?  And  see, 
first  of  all,  that  you  have  hearts,  and  sound  hearts, 
too,  to  give.  Because  you  have  no  heaven  to  look 
for,  is  that  any  reason  that  you  should  remain  ig- 
norant of  this  wonderful  and  infinite  earth,  which 


214  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

is  firmly  and  instantly  given  you  in  possession  ? 
Although  your  days  are  numbered,  and  the  follow- 
ing darkness  sure,  is  it  necessary  that  you  should 
share  the  degradation  of  the  brute,  because  you 
are  condemned  to  its  mortality ;  or  live  the  life 
of  the  moth  and  of  the  worm,  because  you  are  to 
companion  them  in  the  dust  ?  Not  so ;  we  may 
have  but  a  few  thousands  of  days  to  spend,  per- 
haps hundreds  only,  perhaps  tens ;  nay,  the  long- 
est of  our  time  and  best,  looked  back  on,  will  be 
but  as  a  moment,  as  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ;  still 
we  are  men,  not  insects ;  we  are  living  spirits,  not 
passing  clouds.  "  He  maketh  the  winds  His  mes- 
sengers; the  momentary  fire,  His  minister;  "  and 
shall  we  do  less  than  these  /  Let  us  do  the  work 
of  men  while  we  bear  the  form  of  them ;  and  as 
we  snatch  our  narrow  portion  of  time  out  of  eter- 
nity, snatch  also  our  narrow  inheritance  of  passion 
out  of  immortality, — even  though  our  lives  be  as  a 
vapor,  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and  thea 
vanisheth  away. 

134.  But  there  are  some  of  you  who  believe  not 
this ;  who  think  this  cloud  of  life  has  no  such 
close,  that  it  is  to  float,  revealed  and  illumined, 
upon  the  floor  of  heaven,  in  the  day  when  He 
cometh  with  clouds,  and  every  eye  shall  see  Him. 
Some  day,  you  believe,  within  these  five  or  ten  or 


OF  THB  MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  215 

twenty  years,  for  every  one  of  us  the  judgment 
will  be  set,  and  the  books  opened.  If  that  be 
true,  far  more  than  that  must  be  true.  Is  there 
but  one  day  of  judgment  ?  Why,  for  us  every  day 
is  a  day  of  judgment, — every  day  is  a  dies  ir<e, 
and  writes  its  irrevocable  verdict  in  the  flame  of 
its  west.  Think  you  that  judgment  waits  till  the 
doors  of  the  grave  are  opened  ?  It  waits  at  the 
doors  of  your  houses,  it  waits  at  the  corners  of 
your  streets.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  judgment ; 
the  insects  that  we  crush  are  our  judges,  the  mo- 
ments we  fret  away  are  our  judges,  the  ele- 
ments that  feed  us  judge  as  they  minister,  and  the 
pleasures  that  deceive  us  judge  as  they  indulge. 
Let  us,  for  our  lives,  do  the  work  of  men  while  wt 
bear  the  form  of  them,  if  indeed  those  lives  are 
not  as  a  vapor,  and  do  not  vanish  away. 

135.  "The  work  of  men," — and  what  is  that? 
Well,  we  may  any  of  us  know  very  quickly,  OH  the 
condition  of  being  wholly  ready  to  do  it.  But 
many  of  us  are  for  the  most  part  thinking,  not  of 
what  we  are  to  do,  but  of  what  we  are  to  get ;  and 
the  best  of  us  are  sunk  into  the  sin  of  Ananias,  and 
it  is  a  mortal  one, — we  want  to  keep  back  part  of 
the  price.  And  we  continually  talk  of  taking  up 
our  cross,  as  if  the  only  harm  in  a  cross  was  the 
might  of  it, — as  if  it  was  only  a  thing  to  be  car- 


£16  SESAME   AND    LILIES. 


ried,  instead  of  to  be  crucified  upon.  "They 
that  are  His  have  crucified  the  flesh  with  the  affec- 
tions and  lusts."  Does  that  mean,  think  you, 
that  in  time  of  national  distress,  of  religious  trial, 
of  crisis  for  every  interest  and  hope  of  humanity, 
none  of  us  will  cease  jesting,  none  cease  idling, 
none  put  themselves  to  any  wholesome  work,  none 
take  so  much  as  a  tag  of  lace  off  their  footman's 
coats,  to  save  the  world  ?  Or  does  it  rather  mean, 
that  they  are  ready  to  leave  houses,  lands,  and 
kindreds, — yes,  and  life,  if  need  be?  Life! — 
some  of  us  are  ready  enough  to  throw  that  away, 
joyless  as  we  have  made  it.  But  "  station  in  life," 
— how  many  of  us  are  ready  to  quit  that  ?  Is  it 
not  always  the  great  objection  where  there  is  ques- 
tion of  finding  something  useful  to  do,  ' '  We  can- 
not leave  our  stations  in  life  "  ? 

Those  of  us  who  really  cannot, — that  is  to  say, 
who  can  only  maintain  themselves  by  continuing 
in  some  business  or  salaried  office, — have  already 
something  to  do;  and  all  that  they  have  to  see  to 
is,  that  they  do  it  honestly  and  with  all  their 
might.  But  with  most  people  who  use  that  apol- 
ogy, "remaining  in  the  station  of  life  to  which 
Providence  has  called  them"  means  keeping  all 
the  carriages  and  all  the  footmen  and  large  houses 
they  can  possibly  pay  for ;  and  once  for  all,  I  say 


OF   THE  MYSTERY  OF   LIFE.  217 

that  if  ever  Providence  did  put  them  into  stations 
of  that  sort,  which  is  not  at  all  a  matter  of  certainty, 
Providence  is  just  now  very  distinctly  calling  them 
out  again.  Levi's  station  in  life  was  the  receipt 
of  custom;  and  Peter's,  the  shore  of  Galilee; 
and  Paul's,  the  ante-chambers  of  the  High  Priest ; 
which  "station  in  life"  each  had  to  leave,  with 
brief  notice. 

And  whatever  our  station  in  life  may  be  at  this 
crisis,  those  of  us  who  mean  to  fulfil  our  duty 
ought,  first,  to  live  on  as  little  as  we  can ;  and  sec- 
ondly, to  do  all  the  wholesome  work  for  it  we  can, 
and  to  spend  all  we  can  spare  in  doing  all  the  sure 
good  we  can. 

And  sure  good  is  first  in  feeding  people,  then  in 
dressing  people,  then  in  lodging  people,  and 
lastly,  in  rightly  pleasing  people  with  arts  or  sci- 
ences, or  any  other  subject  of  thought. 

136.  I  say  first  in  feeding;  and  once  for  all,  do 
not  let  yourselves  be  deceived  by  any  of  the  com- 
mon talk  of  "indiscriminate  charity."  The  order 
to  us  is  not  to  feed  the  deserving  hungry,  nor  the 
industrious  hungry,  nor  the  amiable  and  well-in- 
tentioned hungry, — but  simply  to  feed  the  hungry. 
It  is  quite  true,  infallibly  true,  that  if  any  man 
will  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat;  think  of  that, 
and  every  time  you  sit  down  to  your  dinner,  ladies 


218  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

and  gentlemen,  say  solemnly  before  you  ask  a 
blessing,  ' '  How  much  work  have  I  done  to-day 
for  my  dinner?  "  But  the  proper  way  to  enforce 
that  order  on  those  below  you,  as  well  as  on  your- 
selves, is  not  to  leave  vagabonds  and  honest  people  to 
starve  together ;  but  very  distinctly  to  discern  and 
seize  your  vagabond,  and  shut  your  vagabond  up 
out  of  honest  people's  way,  and  very  sternly  then 
see  that  until  he  has  worked  he  does  not  eat.  But 
the  first  thing  is  to  be  sure  you  have  the  food  to 
give ;  and  therefore  to  enforce  the  organization  of 
vast  activities  in  agriculture  and  in  commerce,  for 
the  production  of  the  wholesomest  food,  and 
proper  storing  and  distribution  of  it,  so  that  no 
famine  shall  any  more  be  possible  among  civilized 
beings.  There  is  plenty  of  work  in  this  business 
alone,  and  at  once,  for  any  number  of  people  who 
like  to  engage  in  it. 

137.  Secondly,  dressing  people, — that  is  to  say, 
urging  every  one  within  reach  of  your  influence  to 
be  always  neat  and  clean,  and  giving  them  means 
of  being  so.  In  so  far  as  they  absolutely  refuse, 
you  must  give  up  the  effort  with  respect  to  them, 
only  taking  care  that  no  children  within  your 
sphere  of  influence  shall  any  more  be  brought  up 
with  such  habits;  and  that  every  person  who  is 
willing  to  dress  with  propriety  shall  have  encour- 


OF  THE  MYSTERY  OF   LIFE.  219 

agemcnt  to  do  so.  And  the  first  absolutely  neces- 
sary step  toward  this  is  the  gradual  adoption  of  a 
consistent  dress  for  different  ranks  of  persons,  so 
that  their  rank  shall  be  known  by  their  dress,  and 
the  restriction  of  the  changes  of  fashion  within 
certain  limits.  All  which  appears  for  the  present 
quite  impossible ;  but  it  is  only  so  far  as  even  diffi- 
cult as  it  is  difficult  to  conquer  our  vanity,  frivolity, 
and  desire  to  appear  what  we  are  not.  And  it  is 
not,  nor  ever  shall  be  creed  of  mine,  that  these 
mean  and  shallow  vices  are  unconquerable  by 
Christian  women. 

138.  And  then,  thirdly,  lodging  people, — which 
you  may  think  should  have  been  put  first,  but  I 
put  it  third,  because  we  must  feed  and  clothe  peo- 
ple where  we  find  them,  and  lodge  them  afterward. 
And  providing  lodgment  for  them  means  a  great 
deal  of  vigorous  legislation,  and  cutting  down  of 
vested  interests  that  stand  in  the  way ;  and  after 
that,  or  before  that,  so  far  as  we  can  get  it,  through 
sanitary  and  remedial  action  in  the  houses  that  we 
have,  and  then  the  building  of  more,  strongly, 
beautifully,  and  in  groups  of  limited  extent,  kept 
in  proportion  to  their  streams,  and  walled  round, 
so  that  there  may  be  no  festering  and  wretched 
suburb  anywhere,  but  clean  and  busy  street  within, 
and  the  open  country  without,  with  a  belt  of 


220  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

beautiful  garden  and  orchard  round  the  walls,  so 
that  from  any  part  of  the  city  perfectly  fresh  air 
and  grass  and  sight  of  far  horizon  might  be  reach- 
able in  a  few  minutes'  walk.  This  the  final  aim; 
but  in  immediate  action  every  minor  and  possible 
good  to  be  instantly  done,  when  and  as  we  can ; 
roofs  mended  that  have  holes  in  them,  fences 
patched  that  have  gaps  in  them,  walls  buttressed 
that  totter,  and  floors  propped  that  shake;  clean- 
liness and  order  enforced  with  our  own  hands  and 
eyes,  till  we  are  breathless,  every  day.  And  all 
the  fine  arts  will  healthily  follow.  I  myself  have 
washed  a  flight  of  stone  stairs  all  down  with  bucket 
and  broom,  in  a  Savoy  inn,  where  they  hadn't 
washed  their  stairs  since  they  first  went  up  them; 
and  I  never  made  a  better  sketch  than  that  after- 
noon. 

139.  These,  then,  are  the  three  first  needs  of 
civilized  life ;  and  the  law  for  every  Christian  man 
and  woman  is,  that  they  shall  be  in  direct  service 
toward  one  of  these  three  needs  as  far  as  is  con- 
sistent with  their  own  special  occupation,  and  if 
they  have  no  special  business,  then  wholly  in  one 
of  these  services.  And  out  of  such  exertion  in 
plain  duty,  all  other  good  will  come;  for  in  this 
direct  contention  with  material  evil,  you  will  find 
out  the  real  nature  of  all  evil ;  you  will  discern  by 


OF   THE   MYSTERY   OF   LIFE.  221 

the  various  kinds  of  resistance  what  is  really  the 
fault  and  main  antagonism  to  good ;  also  you  will 
find  the  most  unexpected  helps  and  profound  les- 
sons given,  and  truths  will  come  thus  down  to  us 
which  the  speculation  of  all  our  lives  would  never 
have  raised  us  up  to.  You  will  find  nearly  every 
educational  problem  solved  as  soon  as  you  truly 
want  to  do  something ;  everybody  will  become  of 
use  in  their  own  fittest  way,  and  will  learn  what  is 
best  for  them  to  know  in  that  use.  Competitive  ex- 
amination will  then,  and  not  till  then,  be  whole- 
some, because  it  will  be  daily  and  calm  and  in 
practice ;  and  on  these  familiar  arts  and  minute  but 
certain  and  serviceable  knowledges,  will  be  surely 
edified  and  sustained  the  greater  arts  and  splendid 
theoretical  sciences. 

140.  But  much  more  than  this.  On  such  holy 
and  simple  practice  will  be  founded,  indeed,  at  last, 
an  infallible  religion.  The  greatest  of  all  the  mys< 
teries  of  life,  and  the  most  terrible,  is  the  corruption 
of  even  the  sincerest  religion  which  is  not  daily 
founded  on  rational,  effective,  humble,  and  helpful 
action.  Helpful  action,  observe!  for  there  is  just  one 
law,  which  obeyed,  keeps  all  religions  pure ;  forgot- 
ten, makes  them  all  false.  Whenever  in  any  re- 
ligious faith,  dark  or  bright,  we  allow  our  minds 
to  dwell  upon  the  points  in  which  we  differ  from 


222  SESAME   AND   LILIES. 

other  people,  we  are  wrong,  and  in  the  devil's 
power.  That  is  the  essence  of  the  Pharisee's 
thanksgiving, — "  Lord,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not 
as  other  men  are. ' '  At  every  moment  of  our  lives 
we  should  be  trying  to  find  out,  not  in  what  we 
differ  with  other  people,  but  in  what  we  agree 
with  them ;  aud  the  moment  we  find  we  can  agree 
as  to  anything  that  should  be  done,  kind  or  good 
(and  who  but  fools  couldn't?),  then  do  it;  push 
at  it  together, — you  can't  quarrel  in  a  side-by-side 
push  ;  but  the  moment  that  even  the  best  men 
stop  pushing  and  begin  talking,  they  mistake  their 
pugnacity  for  piety,  and  it's  all  over.  I  will  not 
speak  of  the  crimes  which  in  past  times  have  been 
committed  in  the  name  of  Christ,  nor  of  the  fol- 
lies which  are  at  this  hour  held  to  be  consistent 
with  obedience  to  Him ;  but  I  will  speak  of  the 
morbid  corruption  and  waste  of  vital  power  in  re- 
ligious sentiment,  by  which  the  pure  strength  of 
that  which  should  be  the  guiding  soul  of  every  na- 
tion, the  splendor  of  its  youthful  manhood  and 
spotless  light  of  its  maidenhood,  is  averted  or 
cast  away.  You  may  see  continually  girls  who 
have  never  been  taught  to  do  a  single  useful  thing 
thoroughly;  who  cannot  sew,  who  cannot  cook, 
who  cannot  cast  an  account,  nor  prepare  a  medi- 
cine, whose  whole  life  has  been  passed  either  in 


OP  THE  MYSTEBY   OF  LIFE.  22$ 

play  or  in  pride ;  you  will  find  girls  like  these, 
when  they  are  earnest -hearted,  cast  all  their  innate 
passion  of  religious  spirit,  which  was  meant  by 
God  to  support  them  through  the  irksomeness  of 
daily  toil,  into  grievous  and  vain  meditation  over 
the  meaning  of  the  great  Book,  of  which  no  syl- 
lable was  ever  yet  to  be  understood  but  through  a 
deed ;  all  the  instinctive  wisdom  and  mercy  of 
their  womanhood  made  vain,  and  the  glory  of 
their  pure  consciences  warped  into  fruitless  agony 
concerning  questions  which  the  laws  of  common 
serviceable  life  would  have  either  solved  for  them 
in  an  instant,  or  kept  out  of  their  way.  Give 
such  a  girl  any  true  work  that  will  make  her  active 
in  the  dawn  and  weary  at  night,  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  her  fellow-creatures  have  indeed- 
been  the  better  for  her  day,  and  the  powerless 
sorrow  of  her  enthusiasm  will  transform  itself  into 
a  majesty  of  radiant  and  beneficent  peace. 

So  with  our  youths.  We  once  taught  them  to 
make  Latin  verses,  and  called  them  educated ;  now 
we  teach  them  to  leap  and  to  row,  to  hit  a  ball 
with  a  bat,  and  call  them  educated.  Can  they 
plough,  can  they  sow,  can  they  plant  at  the  right 
time,  or  build  with  a  steady  hand  ?  Is  it  the  effort 
of  their  lives  to  be  chaste,  knightly,  faithful,  holy 
in  thought,  lovely  in  word  and  deed?  Indeed  it 


224  SESAME   AND  LILIES. 

is  with  some,  nay,  with  many,  and  the  strength  of 
England  is  in  them,  and  the  hope ;  but  we  have 
to  turn  their  courage  from  the  toil  of  war  to  the  toil 
of  mercy,  and  their  intellect  from  dispute  of  words 
to  discernment  of  things  and  their  knighthood 
from  the  errantry  of  adventure  to  the  state  and  fi- 
delity of  a  kingly  power.  And  then,  indeed,  shall 
abide  for  them  and  for  us  an  incorruptible  felicity 
and  an  infallible  region ;  shall  abide  for  us  Faith, 
no  more  to  be  assailed  by  temptation,  no  more  to 
be  defended  by  wrath  and  by  fear ;  shall  abide 
with  us  Hope,  no  more  to  be  quenched  by  the 
years  that  overwhelm,  or  made  ashamed  by  the 
shadows  that  betray ;  shall  abide  for  us  and  with 
us,  the  greatest  of  these, — the  abiding  will,  the 
abiding  name,  of  our  Father.  For  the  greatest  of 
these  is  Charity. 


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...121  Line  Upon  Line. 
..122  Legends  of  the  Province-House.    Have- 

thorne. 

...126  Magic  Nuts,  The.    Molesworth. 
...127  Manon  Lescaut.    Prevost. 
...128  Mar  mi  on.    Scott. 

...129  Master  of  Ballantrae,  The.    Stevenson^ 
...130  Milton's  Poenis. 
...131  Mine  Own  People.    Kipling. 
...132  Minister  of  the  World,  A.    Mason. 
...133  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.    Hawthorne* 
...134  Mulvaney  Stories.    Kipling. 
...135  Macbeth.     Shakespeare. 
...140  Natural   Law   in   the   Spiritual   World. 

Drummond. 
...141  Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures. 

Emerson. 
...145  Old  Christmas.    Irving. 


Altemus'  New  Illustrated  Vademecum  Series.— Continued 

...146  Outre-Mer.     Longfellow. 

...147  Othello,  the  Moor  of  Venice.  Shakespeare, 

...150  Paradise  Lost.    Milton. 

...151  Paradise  Regained.    Milton. 

...152  Paul  and  Virginia.    Saints  Pierre. 

...154  Phantom  Rickshaw.    Kipling. 

...15$  Pilgrim's  Progress,  The.    Bunyan, 

...156  Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills.    Kipling. 

...157  Pleasures  of  Life.    Lubbock. 

...158  Plutarch's  Lives. 

...159  Poe's  Poems. 

...160  Prince  of  the  House  of  David.  Ingraham. 

...161  Princess  and  Maud.     Tennyson, 

...162  Prue  and  I.    Curtis. 

...163  Peep  of  Day. 

...164  Precept  Upon  Precept. 

...169  Queen  of  the  Air.    Ruskin. 

...172  Rab  and  His  Friends.    Brown. 

...173  Representative  Men.    Emerson. 

...174  Reveries  of  a  Bachelor.    Mitchell. 

...175  Rip  Van  Winkle.    Ir»ing. 

... 1 76  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man.    Feuillet. 

...177  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam. 

...178  Romeo  and  Juliet.    Shakespeare. 

...179  Robert  Hardy's  Seven  Days.    Sheldon. 

...182  Samantha  at  Saratoga.    Holley. 

...183  Sartor  Resartus.    Carlyle. 

...184  Scarlet  Letter,  The.    Hawthorne. 

...185  School  for  Scandal.    Sheridan. 

...186  Sentimental  Journey,  A.    Sterne. 

...187  Sesame  and  Lilies.    Ruskin. 

...188  Shakespeare's  Heroines.    Jameson. 

...189  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.     Goldsmith. 


Altemus'  New  Illustrated  Vademecum  Series.— Continued 

...190  5i!as  Marner.    Eliot. 
...191  Sketch  Book,  The.    Irving. 
...192  Snow  Image,  The,    Hawthorne. 
...193  The  Shadowless  Man.     Chamisso. 
...199  Tales  from  Shakespeare.     Lamb. 
...200  Tanglewood  Tales.    Hawthorne. 
...201  Tartarin  of  Tarascon.    Daudet. 
...202  Tartarin  on  the  Alps.    Daudet. 
...203  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar-Room.    Arthur. 
...204  Things  Will  Take  a  Turn.    Harraden. 
...205  Thoughts.    Marcus  Aurelius. 
...206  Through  The  Looking  Glass.    Carroll. 
...207  Tom  Brown's  School  Days.    Hughes. 
...208  Treasure  Island.    Stevenson. 
...209  Twice  Told  Tales.    Hawthorne. 
',..210  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.    Dana. 
...211  The  Merchant  of  Venice.     Shakespeare. 
...212  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

Shakespeare. 

...217  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.    Stowe. 
...218  Undine.     Fouque. 
...222  Vic,  the  autobiography  of  a  fox-terrier. 

Marsh. 

...223  Vicar  of  Wakefield;     Goldsmith. 
...224  Visits  of  Elizabeth,  The.     Giyn. 
...226  Walden.     Thoreau. 
...227  Water-Babies.    Kingsley. 
...228  Weird  Tales.    Poe. 
...229  What  is  Art.     Tolstoi. 
...230  Whittier's  Poems,  Vol.  I. 
...231  Whittier's  Poems,  Vol.  II. 
...232  Window  in  Thrums.     Barrie. 
...233  Women's  Work  in  the  Home.     Farrar. 
...234  Wonder  Book,  A.     Hawthorne. 
...241  Yellowplash  Papers,  The.      Thackeray. 
...244  Zoe.     By  author  of  Laddie )  etc. 


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Bound  in  half-white  Vellum,  illuminated  sides, 
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...  I  The  Silver  Buckle.    By  M.  Nataline  Crump- 
ton.     With  12  illustrations. 
...  2  Charles  Dickens'  Children  Stories.    With 

30  illustrations. 
...  3  The   Children's  Shakespeare.      With    30 

illustrations. 
...  4  Young  Robin  Hood.     By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

With  30  illustrations. 
...  5  Honor  Bright.    By  Mary  C.  RowselL    With 

24  illustrations. 
...  6  The  Voyage  of  the  Mary  Adair.  By  Frances 

E.  Crompton.     With  19  illustrations. 
...  7  The  Kingfisher's  Egg.    By  L.  T.  Meade. 

With  24  illustrations. 

...  8  Tattine.     By  Ruth  Ogden.      With  24  illus- 
trations. 
...  9  The  Doings  of  a  Dear  Little  Couple.    By 

Mary  D.  Brine.     With  20  illustrations. 
...10  Our  Soldier  Boy.    By  G.   Manville  Fenn. 

With  23  illustrations. 
...II  The  Little  Skipper.    By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

With  22  illustrations. 
...12  Little  Gervaise  and  other  Stories.    With 

22  illustrations. 
...13  The   Christmas    Fairy.    By  John  Strange 

Winter.     With  24  illustrations. 
...14  Molly,  The  Drummer  Boy.     Crompton. 


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1.  ^Esop's  Fables.    62  illustrations. 

2.  A  Child's  Life  of  Christ.    49  illustrations. 

3.  A  Child's  Story  of  the    Bible.       72  illus- 

trations. 

4.  The  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe.      70 

illustrations. 

5.  Eunyan's  Pilgrim's   Progress.       46   illus- 

trations. 

6.  Swiss  Family  Robinson.     50  illustrations. 

7.  Gulliver's  Travels.    50  illustrations. 

8.  Bible  Stories  for  Little  Children.    80  illus- 

trations. 


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Robinson  Crusoe.  (Chiefly  in  words  of  one 
syllable.)  His  life  and  strange,  surprising 
adventures,  with  70  beautiful  illustrations  by 
Walter  Paget. 

Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland/  With  42 
illustrations  by  John  Tenniel.  "The  most  de- 
lightful of  children's  stories.  Elegcut  and 
delicious  nonsense." — "Saturday  Review." 

Through  the  Looking-glass  and  what  Alice 
Found  There,  A  companion  to  "  Alice  in 
Wonderland,"  with  50  illustrations  by  John 
Tenniel. 

Animal  Stories  for  Little  People.  The  animals 
tell  the  stories  themselves.  There  are  fifty 
pictures  of  favorite  beasts  and  birds  in  charac- 
teristic attitudes. 


Altemus'  Youno  Peoples'  Library.— Continued. 

Banyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress.  Arranged  for 
young  readers.  With  50  full-page  and  text 
illustrations. 

A  Child's  Story  of  the  Bible.  With  72  full-page 
illustrations. 

A  Child's  Life  of  Christ.  With  49  illustration?. 
Non-sectarian.  Children  are  early  attracted 
and  sweetly  riveted  by  the  wonderful  Story  of 
the  Master  from  the  Manger  to  the  Throne. 

JSwiss  Family  Robinson.  With  50  illustrations. 
The  father  of  the  family  tells  the  tale  of  the 
vicissitudes  through  which  he  and  his  wife  and 
children  pass,  the  wonderful  discoveries  made 
and  dangers  encountered.  The  book  is  full  of 
Interest  and  instruction. 

Christopher  Columbus  and  the  Discovery  off 
America.  With  70  illustrations.  Every  Am- 
erican boy  and  girfshould  be  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  the  life  of  the  great  discoverer, 
'with  its  struggles,  adventures  and  trials. 

The  Story  of  Exploration  and  Discovery  fn 
Africa.  With  80  illustrations.  Records  the 
experiences  of  adventures  and  discoveries  in 
developing  the  "Dark  Continent." 

The  FabJes  of  /Esop.  Compiled  from  the  best 
accepted  sources.  With  62  illustrations.  The 
fables  of  .£jsop  are  among  the  very  earliest 
compositions  of  this  kind,  and  probably  have 
never  been  surpassed  for  point  and  brevity. 

Gulliver's  Travels.  Adapted  for  young  readers, 
with  50  illustrations. 

Mother  Goose's  Rhymes,  Jingles  and  Fairy 
Tales.  With  234  illustrations. 

Lives  of  the  Presidents  of  the  United  States. 

By  Prescott  Holmes.  With  portraits  of  the 
Presidents  and  also  of  the  unsuccessful  candi- 
dates for  the  office  ;  as  well  as  the  ablest  of  the 
Cabinet  officers.  Revised  and  up-to-date. 


Altemus'  Youno  Peoples'  Library.— Continued. 

Vic.     The  Autobiography  of  a   Fox-Terrier.     By 

Marie  More-March..     With  24  illustrations. 
The  Story  of  Adventure  in  the  Frozen  Seas. 

With  70  illustrations.  By  Prescott  Holmes. 
The  book  shows  how  much  can  be  accomplished 
by  steady  perseverance  and  indomitable  pluck. 

Illustrated  Natural  History.  By  the  Rev.  J.  G. 
Wood,  with  80  illustrations.  This  author  has 
done  more  to  popularize  the  study  of  natural 
history  than  any  other  writer.  The  illustrations 
are  striking  and  life-like. 

A  Child's  History  of  England.  By  Charles 
Dickens,  with  50  illustrations.  Tired  of  listen- 
ing to  his  children  memorize  the  twaddle  of  old- 
fashioned  English  history,  the  author  covered 
the  ground  in  his  own  peculiar  and  happy  style 
for  his  own  children's  use.  When  the  work 
•was  published  its  success  was  instantaneous. 

Black  Beauty  :  The  Autobiography  of  a  Horse. 
By  Anna  Sewell,  with  50  illustrations.  This 
\vork  is  to  the  animal  kingdom  what  "  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  "  was  to  the  Afro-American. 

The  Arabian  Nights  Entertainments.  With 
130  illustrations.  Contains  the  most  favorably 
known  of  the  stories. 

Grimm's  Fairy  Tales.  With  55  illustrations. 
The  tales  are  a  wonderful  collection,  as  in- 
teresting, from  a  literary  point  of  view,  as  they 
are  delightful  as  stories. 

Flower  Fables.  By  Louisa  May  Alcott.  With 
numerous  illustrations,  full-page  and  text. 

A  series  of  very  interesting  fairy  tales  by  the 
most  charming  of  American  story-tellers. 

Andersen's  Fairy  Tales.  By  Hans  Christian 
Andersen.  With  77  illustrations. 

These  wonderful  tales  are  not  only  attractive 
to  the  young,  but  equally  acceptable  to  those 
of  mature  years. 


Altamus'  Young  Peoples'  Library.— Continued. 

Grandfather's  Chair;  A  History  for  Youth.    By 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.      With  60  illustrations. 
The  story  of  America  from  the  landing  of  the 
Puritans  to  the  acknowledgment  without  re- 
serve of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States. 

Aunt  Martha's  Corner  Cupboard.  By  Mary  and 
Elizabeth  Kirby,  with  60  illustrations.  Stories 
about  Tea,  Coffee,  Sugar,  Rice  and  Chinaware, 
and  other  accessoriesof  the  well-kept  Cupboard. 

Battles  of  the  War  for  Independence.  By 
Prescott  Holmes,  with  70  illustrations.  A 
graphic  and  full  history  of  the  Rebellion  of  the 
American  Colonies  from  the  yoke  and  oppres- 
sion of  England.  Including  also  an  account  of 
the  second  war  with  Great  Britain,  and  the 
War  with  Merico. 

Battles  of  the  War  for  the  Union.  By  Prescott 
Holmes,  with  So  illustrations.  'A  correct  and 
impartial  account  of  the  greatest  civil  war  in 
the  annals  of  history.  Both  of  these  histories 
of  American  wars  are  a  necessary  part  of  the  edu- 
cation of  all  intelligent  American  boys  and  girls. 

Water  Babies.  By  Charles  Kingsley,  with  84 
illustrations.  A  charming  fairy  tale. 

Young  People's  History  of  the  War  with  Spain. 
By  Prescott  Holmes,  with  86  illustrations.  The 
story  of  the  war  for  the  freedom  of  Cuba, 
arranged  for  young  readers. 

Heroes  of  the  United  States  Navy.  By  Hart- 
well  James,  with  65  illustrations.  From  the 
days  of  the  Revolution  until  the  end  of  the 
War  with  Spain. 

Militnrv  Heroes  of  the  United  State*.  R« 
Hartweil  janies,  witn  nearly  100  illustrations. 
Their  brave  deeds  from  Islington  to  Santiago, 
told  in  a  captivating  manner. 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe, 
with  50  illustrations.  Arranged  for  young 
readers. 

*, Tales  from  Shakespeare.     By  Charles  and  Mary 
'k  •        I/amb.     With  65  illustrations. 


Altemus'  Youno  Peoples'  Library.— Continued. 

— • • -: 

Adventures  in  Toyland.    70  illustrations. 
Adventures  of  a  Brownie.    18  illustrations. 
Mixed  Pickles.     31  illustrations. 
Little  Lame  Prince.    24  illustrations. 
The  Sleepy  King.    77  illustrations. 
Romulus,  the  Founder  of  Rome.    With  49 

illustrations. 
Cyrus    the   Great,   the   Founder   of  the 

Persian  Empire.    With  40  illustrations. 
Darius  the  Great,  King  of  the  Medes  and 

Persian.     With  34  illustrations. 
Xerxes  the  Great,  King  of  Persia.    With 

39  illustrations. 
Alexander   the  Great,  King  of  Macedon. 

With  51  illustrations. 

Pyrrhus,  King  of   Epirus.    With  45  illus- 
trations. 

Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian.    With  37  illus- 
trations. 
Julius    Czesar,  tha  Roman   Conqueror. 

With  44  illustrations. 
Alfred  the  Great,  of  England.    With  40 

illustrations. 
William  the  Conqueror,  cf  England,  With 

43  illustrations. 
liernando    Cortez,  the   Conqueror   of 

Mexico.     With  30  illustrations. 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  With  45  illustrations. 
Queen    Elizabeth,    of   England.    With  49 

illustrations. 
King  Charles  the  First,  of  England.    With 

41  illustrations. 
King  CharJes   the  Second,    of   England. 

With  38  illustrations. 
ittaria  Antoinette,  Queen  of  France.    With 

41  illustrations. 
.Madam  Roland,  A  Heroine  of  the  French 

Revolution.    With  42  illustrations. 
Josephine,  Empress  o1  France.    With  40 

illustrations. 

Rip  Van  Winkle.    With  46  illustrations. 
A  Child's  Garden  of   Verses.     With  loo 

illustrations. 


An  entirely  new  line  of  popular  Relig  ious  Litera- 
ture, carefully  printed  on  fine  paper,  daintily  and 
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...  i  Abide  in  Christ.     Murray. 

...  3  Beecher's  Addresses. 

...  4  Best  Thoughts.    From  Henry  Drummond. 

...  5  Bible  Birthday  Book. 

...  6  Brooks'  Addresses. 

...  7  Buy  Your  Own  Cherries,    Kirton. 

...  8  Changed  Cross,  The. 

...  9  Christian  Life.    Oxenden. 

...10  Christian  Living.    Meyer. 

...12  Christie's  Old  Organ.     Walton. 

...13  Coming  to  Christ.    Havergal. 

...14  Daily  Food  for  Christians. 

...15  Day  Breaketh,  The.    Shugert. 

...17  Drummond's  Addresses. 

...18  Evening  Thoughts.    Havergal. 

...19  Gold  Dust. 

...20  Holy  in  Christ. 

...21  Imitation  of  Christ,  The.    A'Kempis. 

...22  Impregnable  Rock  of  Holy  Scripture. 

Gladstone* 

...23  Jessica's  First  Prayer.    Stretton. 
...24  John   Ploughman's   Pictures.     Spurgeon. 
...25  John  Ploughman's  Talk.    Spurgeon. 
...26  Kept  for  the  Master's  Use.    Havergal. 
...27  Keble's  Christian  Year. 
...28  Let  Us  Follow  Him.    Sienkiewicz. 
...29  Like  Christ.    Murray. 
...30  Line  Upon  Line. 
...31  Manliness  of  Christ,  The.     Hughes. 


Henry  Altemus  Company's  Publications. 

..32  Message  of  Peace,  The.     Church. 
..33  Morning  Thoughts.    Havergal. 
..34  My  King  and  His  Service.    Havergal. 
..35  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World. 

Drummond. 
..37  Pathway  of  Promise. 

..38  Pathway  of  Safety.     Oxenden. 

..39  Peep  of  Day. 

..40  Pilgrim's  Progress,  The.    Bunyan. 

..41  Precept  Upon  Precept. 

..42  Prince  of  the  House  of  David.    Ingrahant. 

..44  Shepherd  Psalm.    Meyer. 

..45  Steps  Into  the  Blessed  Life.    Meyer. 

..46  Stepping  Heavenward.    Prentiss. 

..47  The  Throne  of  Grace. 

..50  With  Christ.    Murray. 


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Hilton's  Paradise  Lost.  With  50  full-page  en- 
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Dante's  Inferno.  With  75  full-page  engravings 
by  Gustave  Dore. 

Dante's  Purgatory  and  Paradise.  With  60  full- 
page  engravings  by  Gustave  Dore\ 

Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King.  With  37  full- 
page  engravings  by  Gustave  Dore". 

The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  flariner.  By  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge,  with  46  full-page  engravings 
by  Gustave  Dore\ 


Henry  Altemus  Company's  Publications. 

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Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland,  and 
Through  the  Looking-glass  and  What 
Alice  Found  There.  By  Lewis  Carroll. 
Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.00. 

Tales  from  Shakespeare.  By  Charles  and  Mary 
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Young  People's  History  of  the  United  States. 

By  Edward  S.  Ellis.    Cloth.    Illustrated.  $1.00. 

Young  People's  History  of  England.  By  Edward 
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Young  People's  History  of  France.  By  Edward 
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Young  People's  History  of  Germany.  By  Ed- 
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Young  People's  History  of  Rome.  By  Edward 
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Young  People's  History  of  Greece.  By  Edward 
S.  Ellis.  Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

Quo  Vadis :   A  Tale  of  the  Time  of  Nero.    By 

Henry  Sienkiewicz.    Cloth.    Illustrated.  #1.00. 

With  Fire  and  Sword  :  A  Tale  of  the  Past.    By 

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Paul :  A  Herald  of  the  Cross.  By  Florence 
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Stephen  :  A  Soldier  of  the  Cross.  By  Florence 
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The  Cross  Triumphant.  By  Florence  Morse 
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Manual  of  Mythology.  By  Alexander  S.  Mur- 
ray. Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

The  Age  of  Fable.  By  Thomas  Bulfinch.  Cloth. 
Illustrated.  $1.00. 

Montayne ;  or,  The  Slavers  of  Old  New  York. 

By  William  O.  Stoddard.     Cloth.     f  i.oo. 

The  Woman  Who  Trusted.  By  Will  N.  Harben. 
I2mo.,  cloth.  Frontispiece.  $1.00. 

Julian,  the  Apostate.  By  D.  S.  Mereshkovski. 
Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables.  By  Nathaniel 
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The  Scarlet  Letter.  By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 
Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

Paul  and  Virginia.  By  Bernardin  de  Saint  Pierre. 
Cloth.  Illustrated.  $1.00. 

Lucile,  By  Owen  Meredith.  Cloth.  Illustrated. 
$1.00. 

The  Song  of  Hiawatha.  By  Henry  W.  Longrel- 
low.  Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.00. 


I 


Altemus'  Popular  Library.— Continued. 

Black   Beauty.     By  Anna  Sewell.     Cloth,   illus- 
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"She  Who  Will  Not  When  She  May."    By 

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Naked  Truths  and  Veiled  Allusions.  By  Minna 
Thomas  Antrim.  Cloth.  50  cents.  Ooze  calf, 
gilt  top,  boxed.  $1.00. 

Yawps  and  Other  Things.  By  William  J.  Lamp- 
ton.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  deckle  edges.  $1.00. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  as  John  Bunyan  wrote  it. 
A  fac-simile  reproduction  of  the  first  edition, 
published  in  1678.  Antique  cloth,  I2mo. 

$1.25. 

The  Fairest  of  the  Fair.  By  Hildegarde  Haw- 
thorne. Cloth,  161110.  $1.25. 

Around  the  World  in  Eighty  Minutes.  Con- 
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Shakespeare's  Complete  Works.  With  64  Boy- 
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The  Care  of  Children.  By  Elisabeth  R.  Scovil. 
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Preparation  for  riotherhood.     By  Elisabeth  R. 

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Scovil.     Cloth.     40  cents. 
What  Women  Should  Know.     By  Mrs.  E.   B, 

Duffy.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
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"Helen's  Babies."     Cloth.     50  cents. 

Poor  Boys'  Chances.  By  John  Habberton.  A 
book  for  modern  boys.  Cloth,  280  pages,  136 
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Dictionary  of  Phrase  and  Fable.  Giving  the 
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pages.  $1.50. 

Altemus'  Conversation  Dictionaries.  English- 
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with  125  engravings.  Cloth,  size  9x  10  inches, 
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Bible  Pictures  and  Stories,  TOO  full-page  engrav- 
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Life  and  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  120 

engravings.    Cloth,  size  7^  *9^  inches,  $3.00. 

My  Odd  Little  Polks.  By  Malcolm  Douglas. 
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The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic.  A  History. 
By  John  Lothrop  Motley.  Embellished  with 
over  fifty  full-page  half-tone  engravings  and  a 
map.  Complete  in  two  volumes — over  1600 
pages.  Large  lamo.,  cloth,  per  set,  $2.00. 
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"  The  immediate  effect  of  reading  the  first  chapters  of 
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for  the  fathers  of  other  children." — The  Outlook,  New 
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"  No  child  can  resist  the  enticing  whimsicalities  of  a 
little  horse  that  talked  once  a  month  '  like  a  serial 
story.'" — The  Literary  World,  Boston,  Mass. 


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«    ROYAL  BOUNTY  FOR  TILE  KING'S  GUESTS,  by  Frances 
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3  ROYAL,     COMMANDMENTS    FOR   THE  KING'S  SER- 

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4  ROYAL,  INVITATION  FOR  THE  KING'S  CHILDREN, 

by  Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 

C    LOYAL  RESPONSES  FOR  THE  KING'S  MINSTRELS,  by 
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6  LITTLE  PILLOWS,  by  Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 

7  MORNING  BELLS,  by  Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 

8  KFPT  FOR  THE  MASTER'S  USE,  by  Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 

9  THE    CHRIST  IN    "WHOM  CHRISTIANS  BELIEVE,  by 

Phillips  Brooks. 

10  TRUE  LIBERTY,  by  Phillips  Brooks. 

11  THE    BEAUTY    OF  A    LIFE     OF  SERVICE,  by  PhiBips 

12  THOUGHT  AND  ACTION,  by  Phillips  Bro-*s. 

13  HOW  TO  STUDY  THK  BIBLE,  by  Dwight  L.  Moody. 

14  LORD,  TEACH  US  TO  PRAY,  by  Andrew  Murray. 

15  IN  MY  NAME,  by  Andrew  Murray. 

16  THE  GREATEST   THING   IN   THE  WORLD,   by  Henry 

Drummond. 

17  ETERNAL  LIFE,  by  Henry  Drummond. 

18  WHAT  IS  A  CHRISTIAN?    THE  STUDY  OF  THE  BI- 

BLE; A  TALK  ON  BOOKS,  by  Henry  Drummond. 

19  THE  CHANGED  LIFE,  by  Henry  Drummond. 

20  FIRST!  A  TALK  WITH  BOYS,  by  Henry  Dnimmond. 

21  GOD'S  WORD  AND  GOD'S  WORK,  by  Martin  Luther. 
2.2     FAITH,  by  Thomas  Arnold. 

*3    THE  CREATION  STOKY,  by  William  E.  Gladstone. 
24    THE  MESSAGE   OF  COMFORT,  by  Ashton  Oxenden. 
85    THE    LORD'S   PRAYER   AND  THE  TEN  COMMAND- 
MENTS, by  Dean  Stanley. 

26  HYMNS  OF  PRAISE  AND  GLADNESS,  by  Elisabeth  Rob- 

inson Scovil. 

27  MORNING  STRENGTH,  by  Elisabeth  Robinson  Scovil. 

28  EVENING  COMFORT,  by  Elisabeth  Robinson  Scovil. 

29  DIFFICULTIES,  by  Hannah  Whitaii  Smith. 

30  THE  HEAVENLY  VISION,  by  Rev.  F.  B.  Meyer. 

31  WORDS  OF  HELP  FOR  CHRISTIAN  GIRLS,  by  Rer.  ?. 

B.  Meyer. 

32  JESSICA'S  FIRST  PRAYER,  by  Hesba  Stretton. 

33  JESSICA'S  MOTHER,  by  Hesba  Stretton. 

34  THE  MFSSAGE  OF  PEACE,  by  R.  W.  Church. 

35  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  JESUS,  by  Robert  F    Horton. 

36  INDUSTRY  AND  IDLENESS,  bv  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

37  POPULAR  AMUSEMENTS,  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

38  TWELVE    CAUSES    OF    DISHONESTY,    by    Henry  ^  ird 

39  EXPECTATION  CORNER,  by  E  S.  Elliott. 

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Z    INTELLECT,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

3  SELF  RELIANCE,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

4  MANNERS,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

6    CHARACTER,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

6  SPIRITUAL  LAW,  by  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

7  THE  USE  AND  MISUSE  OF  BOOKS,  by  Frederic  Harrison. 

8  THE  TRIBUNE  PRIMER,  by  Eugene  Field. 

9  J.  COLE,  by  Emma  Gellibrand. 

10  MAX  AND  GERALD,  by  Emma  Gellibrand. 

11  SWEETNESS  AND  LIGHT,  by  Matthew  Arnold. 

12  INDEPENDENCE  DAY,  by  Edward  Everett  Hale. 

13  ART,  POETRY  AND  MUSIC,  by  Sir  John  Lubbock. 

14  THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE,  by  Sir  John  Lubbock. 

15  THE  CHOICE  OF  BOOKS,  by  Sir  John  I,ubbock. 

16  THE  DESTINY  OF  MAN,  by  Sir  John  I,ubbock. 

17  THE   DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT, 

by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

18  THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

19  ON  THE  CITY  WALL,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

BO     THE  MAN  WHO  WAS,  by  Rudyard  Kipling.          ' 

21  THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

22  THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

23  ON  GREENHOW  HILL,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

24  RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  by  Washington  Irving. 

28    THE  LEGEND  OF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW,  by  Washington  Irving. 

26  OLD  CHRISTMAS,  by  Washington  Irving. 

27  WORK,  by  John  Ruskin. 

28  MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION,  by  the  author  of  "  laddie." 
39    LADDIE,  by  the  author  of  "  Miss  Toosey's  Mission." 

9O    A  SACRIFICE  AT    PRATO,  by  Maurice  Hewlett  (author  of 

"  Richard  Yea  and  Nay"). 
31    QUATTROCENTISTERIA,  by    Maurice    Hewlett  (author  of 

"  Richard  Yea  and  Nay"). 
33    BEYOND    THE    MARSHES,    by   Ralph   Connor  (author  of 

"Black  Rock"). 
33     SORROW,  by  W.  A.  Fraser,  author  of"  Mooswa." 


ALTEMUS'  EDITION  SHAKESPEARE'S  PLAYS. 
HANDY  VOLUME  SIZE. 

With  a  historical  and  critical  introduction  to  each 
volume,  by  Profeaeor  Henry  Morley. 


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Paste-grain  roan,  flexible,  gold  top       .       50  cts. 

x.  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

a.  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 

3.  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream* 

4.  As  You  Like  It. 

5.  Comedy  of  Errors. 

6.  Coriolanus. 

7.  Cymbcline. 

8.  Hamlet. 

9.  Julius  Ca?sar. 

10.  King  Henry  IV.    (Part  I.) 

ix.  King  Henry  IV.    (Part  II.) 

12.  King  Henry  V. 

13.  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  I.) 

14.  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  II.) 
13.  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  III.) 

16.  King  Henry  VIII. 

17.  King  John. 

18.  King  Lear. 

19.  King  Richard  II. 

20.  King  Richard  HI. 

at.  Love's  Labour's  Lost. 

22.  Macbeth. 

23.  Measure  for  Measure. 

24.  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

25.  Othello. 
96.  Pericles. 

27.  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

38.  The  Merchant  of  Venice. 

29.  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

30.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew. 

31.  The  Tempest. 

32.  Th*  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

33.  The  Winter's  Tale. 

34.  Timon  of  Athens. 

35.  Titus  Andronicus. 

36.  Trollus  and  Cressida. 

37.  Twelfth  Night. 

38.  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Lucrece. 

39.  Sonnets,  Passionate  Pilgrim,  Etc. 


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